


This Space Between Us

by JacksRightHand



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Development, Death, Dubious Consent, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gay Sex, Imprisonment, Isolation, Italics Are Abused, Jack being Jack, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Slow Burn, Torture, Unhealthy Relationships, this is not the ending you are looking for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:34:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 125,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23720140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JacksRightHand/pseuds/JacksRightHand
Summary: In a twist of events, both Vaughn and Rhys manage to make it back to Helios with Vallory's crew in tow. But shortly after Rhys makes it to Jack's office, his obsessive hero worship is revealed, and the girls disappear (along with the Gortys piece), leaving Rhys and Vaughn to pick up where they left off.With Handsome Jack back in power, Rhys naively expected more. But he soon finds himself back in Data-Mining, with a resulting depression that does not go unnoticed by Vaughn. Luckily for the two of them, Rhys earns a promotion that sets him back on track. But as he starts his first day at his new job, one thought lingers at the back of Rhys' mind.Where did Jack go?
Relationships: Handsome Jack & Rhys (Borderlands), Handsome Jack/Rhys (Borderlands), Rhys (Borderlands)/Original Character(s)
Comments: 216
Kudos: 264





	1. Rhys

**Author's Note:**

> **WARNING:**  
>  All of my stories are dark in nature, and may include (but are not limited to) the following triggers: emotional abuse, physical abuse, manipulation, torture, death, imprisonment. There are also sexual interactions between m/m characters.
> 
> I will not add trigger warnings at the start of chapters in order to prevent spoilers.  
>  **If these are any of your triggers, or if you are under 18 years old, please do not read this story.**
> 
> Also: the toxic relationships within are meant to be a warning -- it is not my intention to normalize nor promote this behaviour.  
> 
> 
> Special thanks to a friend for proofreading and calling me out on my bullshit.  
> You know who you are, kitten.

There was a gentle pounding in Rhys’ ears as he stood against the back wall of the elevator, watching the floor numbers slowly rise overhead. He did his best to ignore it, carefully adjusting the load in his arms and impatiently tapping a foot. While checking and rechecking the time in his ECHOeye’s HUD, a sudden buoyant shift of the elevator car caused his heart to almost leap into his throat, and he winced, forcing a slow breath. He suddenly found himself wishing the ride had taken longer, as upon reaching the selected floor he realized he had only halfway succeeded in convincing himself that — _yes, you can do this._

It was barely 5AM when the elevator doors slid open to reveal Hyperion’s pristine Programming department. At this time of the morning it was abandoned, which could be easily confirmed due to the expansive, open layout of the room. His eyes skimmed over the labyrinth of cubicles that made up the first half of the space, before flickering toward the back, to the collection of executive offices that were separated by floor-to-ceiling, shatter proof windows instead of walls.

A wide centre aisle split the large space in two, starting at the foot of the elevators and ending on the far side at restricted access hallways beyond a solid set of blast doors. Stealing a breath, Rhys started down the aisle, gently cradling the filing box in his hands. About halfway into the room he found what he was looking for, and paused long enough to adjust the load in his arms and thumb at the brass nameplate affixed to the outer wall.

_Rhys Strongfork - Munitions Programming._

Once inside, Rhys used the filing box in his hands to gently push aside the small welcome basket awaiting him, before he dropped into his chair and kicked up his feet.

Here it was, finally. Day one.

He was here thanks to an odd combination of skill and good luck. During an analysis of months-old code from a security patch, Rhys had identified a major back door installed within the Hyperion network. Major enough to warrant an investigation, followed by a few _airlocks_.

Having been the one to discover the hole, Rhys was offered the chance to provide a fix, and he jumped at the opportunity. He quickly submitted code that was approved, deployed, and had earned him a promotion by the following morning. Rhys didn’t dwell for too long on whose place he had taken — _it was likely just the dev who’d installed the back door in the first place_ — as that was simply life on Helios. In fact, that was fighting _fair_ , when most Hyperion employees were more accustomed to resorting to far dirtier tactics, much like he’d done in the past.

So here he was, arriving early on his first day and eager to perform, with an enthusiasm he’d all but lost in Data Mining. It was the boost he needed to break him out of the listlessness that had gripped him these last few months. But while he was happy to be moving on, Rhys couldn’t help but linger on one niggling thought.

At where he _could_ have been by now. Where he had expected to be.

Rhys winced; he quickly skirted away from a very dangerous line of thought. It wouldn’t do well to dwell, so despite the remnant anxiety that clung to his chest, the phantom unease lurking at the back of his mind, Rhys pushed himself to move on. New day, new job, new challenges. New things to focus on. And Rhys was ready for that.

He _needed_ that.

Smiling, he dropped his feet to the floor and began emptying his filing box. He finished quickly, having so little to bring along — a tablet, a ficus from Vaughn, and a Hyperion branded mug. The department had provided him with a dual desktop holoscreen, and with his ECHO-net access literally embedded in him, there wasn’t much else required. Rhys tossed the empty filing box into the chair opposite him, picked up the mug, and cheerfully strode out of the cubicle.

Another advantage Programming had over Data Mining was their _huge_ break room. It had foosball tables, vending machines, and a far superior coffee machine, which Rhys was quick to locate. He carefully perused the available flavours before selecting a hazelnut-enhanced cartridge to slot in along with his mug. As it _whirred_ to life, Rhys eased against the counter, glancing about the empty room.

He could do this. He could be happy here. Why wouldn’t he be? Hell, even if he hadn’t been _entirely forgotten_ , what would he have even asked for? What —

Again, Rhys forced himself back into the present. A sharp slap across his cheek did the trick, and he rubbed his jaw at the remnant pain tingling in his flesh.

He was fine. He was! He _would_ be. He just had to _stop thinking about it._

The sound of movement in the main office brought Rhys back to reality, startling at the definitive _click_ of lights being reactivated. He gazed down to see his mug was full, realizing he had been there long enough for the rest of the office to have gone dark. Rhys picked up his coffee and turned in haste, almost running straight into the figure that had appeared in the doorway.

“Whoa!” he barked in surprise.

“Hey, slow down there!”

“Sorry, I’m sorry, I—” Rhys glanced up, and panic shot through him; Isaac Andrews, the Head of Programming, stood before him with a sharp smirk. “Sir! My apologies!”

Normally, running headfirst into a Hyperion executive was a one-way ticket through the closest airlock. Isaac, however, had seemed different from the start. He’d been the one to personally promote Rhys into the department, and so far did not seem to have any of the nefarious intentions that Rhys had come to expect from his Hyperion overlords.

He also happened to be _hot as hell_ , with sandy hair and a smattering of freckles. He was only just shorter than Rhys, but _broad shouldered_ and incredibly charming. Isaac was the kind of guy you’d see at the other end of a crowded bar and wonder _what he smelled like_.

Okay, that admittedly got weird.

As a testament to Rhys’ line of thinking, despite having nearly been mowed down by Rhys, Isaac merely offered a playful grin.

“No worries, Rhys,” he chuckled. “What are you doing here so early? Are you that excited for your first day?”

“Oh definitely, Mister Andrews,” Rhys nodded, stepping out of the way as Isaac moved into the break room. “I’m eager to see what’s in store.”

“Glad to hear it,” Isaac winked at him, and Rhys felt a flutter in his chest. “And just ‘Isaac’ is fine.”

“Isaac,” Rhys echoed shyly, brushing his cybernetic hand through his hair. Isaac turned, taking his spot of leaning against the counter, and glanced over Rhys. _All_ of Rhys, he noticed, and mentally suppressed the urge to preen. He subtly glanced down at himself, suddenly pleased with this morning’s choice of slim-fitting slacks.

“Do you have any questions?”

“Uh, yes, I do! About task transfer between departments—” Rhys hummed. “I’m going to be working on weapon updates, so I’ll need to get specs down to the R&D boys…”

“We have task management software you’ll be introduced to, but…” Isaac folded his arms. “R&D can take a while. Would you like range access?”

Rhys’ eyes widened. “Range access?”

“Yeah. I had them build a firing range in the back. Didn’t want to hamper progress.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not,” Isaac smirked. “I still have time before my morning meeting. Come on, I’ll show you.”

Isaac grabbed his mug and moved past Rhys, gently brushing his arm. Rhys followed eagerly as they headed out into the office and down the centre aisle, quickly realizing that they were headed toward the blast doors at the back.

“How did you get a range installed?”

“I have my ways,” Isaac chuckled. “Actually, I’ve made a few notable updates in the last while… It has increased production and helped boost morale, but I think a few of my changes are finally being noticed. I might have to start defending some of my decisions to the bigwigs upstairs.”

_Like Jack?_

“Well, I’m sure you have the support of your employees,” Rhys nodded, then, with a laugh: “Not that the higher-ups care about the opinions of us peons.”

“Maybe not,” Isaac laughed, pausing as they reached the dual metal doors. He turned to Rhys, smiling softly. “But I do.”

Rhys did his absolute best not to blush. Isaac raised his hand to the door interface, which buzzed in acknowledgement. They moved into a dimly lit corridor, passed an observation theatre, descended some stairs, and pressed through a heavy door.

Isaac wasn’t kidding — there really _was_ a gun range back there. It was huge, housing about ten separate lanes that overlooked a two-hundred foot range. Each lane had its own track system, an overhead one that provided lightweight, paper targets, and a second embedded into the floor for heavier objects. Rhys whistled sharply as he gazed across the room. Isaac opened a case on the wall, retrieved a pair of ear protectors and tossed them to Rhys. He disappeared into the next room as Rhys adjusted the set onto his head, before reappearing with a pistol in hand.

“The Vision,” Isaac announced proudly, loud enough for him to hear through the ear protectors. Rhys’ breath snagged as his eyes fell on the pistol. It was typical Hyperion brand: all sharp angles and bold yellow. It was a damn gorgeous gun, but despite this, he couldn’t shake a strange ripple of unease as Isaac approached. He swallowed hard as his boss offered the gun in outstretched hands.

“I…” Rhys hesitated. Isaac quirked an eyebrow at him, easing back.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just…”

Sporadic, chaotic memories flashed through his head, and Rhys winced.

“Is it all right if I just…can I _watch?_ ” Rhys hummed, chewing on his lip as he avoided Isaac’s curious glance. _Aaaaand now he thinks I’m a wuss_. Isaac stared at Rhys for a painfully long moment, before a smile crossed his features.

“I’ll never turn down the opportunity to show off,” he chuckled, turning to the closest laneway. He smacked a red button on the console, setting the overhead track into motion. A paper target was dragged into view, stopping midway on the track.

Rhys watched as Isaac stepped up to the line and expertly loaded the pistol. His body went rigid as he extended his arms and aimed the weapon down range. He remained solid as he fired, arching only slightly with the recoil of each shot. Rhys’ eyebrows rose as he skimmed over Isaac with interest; the Head of Programming was strangely experienced with a gun. And it wasn’t just the centre cluster of shots displayed on the paper target, but the way he casually fell into his stance. Rhys couldn’t help but admire the natural confidence.

_Like Jack._

When Isaac turned, a charming smile on his face, Rhys realized he was still staring. The man’s smile grew wider, and he placed the gun down carefully before gesturing for Rhys. He hesitated for a moment before drawing forward, stepping alongside Isaac and gazed down range, quietly pretending not to notice the hand his boss placed onto his shoulder.

“Wow,” Rhys crooned. “You’re surprisingly good at this.”

“ _‘Surprisingly’_ , he says,” Isaac laughed. “Do I not seem the type?”

“I’m just more accustomed to Hyperion employees settling their issues with finger guns, as opposed to real ones.”

Isaac chuckled again; Rhys felt fingers grip gently on his shoulder.

“Fair. I grew up on Tantalus. We had our share of…conflicts.”

“Tantalus,” Rhys stiffened.

_Like Jack._

Isaac paused, an eyebrow raised. “…like Handsome Jack, yes.”

Rhys blanched. He hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud. Blushing, Rhys made to step away, but Isaac’s hold on him kept him in place. He sheepishly lifted his head, gazing into Isaac’s eyes, when he noticed the _look_ the man was giving him.

As Rhys stared back at Isaac, feeling the warmth of the hand holding him, he considered that he’d been wrong about his new boss not having ulterior motives for promoting him. But suddenly, the idea no longer bothered him. He felt an odd comfort, standing so close to him. In fact, he was half tempted to lean into the peculiar embrace.

“Are you sure I can’t convince you to try?”

Rhys blinked twice, then slowly nodded. Isaac’s hand guided him, turning Rhys toward the booth. He tentatively picked up the _Vision_ , and lifted his arms. Isaac’s touch smoothed along his shoulders and to his biceps to direct him.

“Don’t lock your elbows,” Isaac ordered, standing closer to him. “More your hand here…right. Now. When you’re ready, take a deep breath, and squeeze.”

Every inch of his back pressed against Isaac was _warm_. Rhys ignored the heat, swallowed the lump in his throat, and carefully lined up the sights. He angled back, shoulders easing against Isaac’s chest for stability, and inhaled deeply. His finger slid onto the trigger.

The subtle recoil rocked him back, and Isaac’s hands were on his hips to steady him. The paper target fluttered as a hole punched a space not far from the larger tear at the centre. Rhys couldn’t help but smirk with pride as he gently set down the gun.

“Look at you,” Isaac praised. “You’re a natural, Rhysie!”

Something desperate flipped over in his stomach, and Rhys shoved away from Isaac. He stumbled aside, feeling light headed as he obeyed the sudden urge to put distance between them. Reaching for a beam in the next lane booth, he leaned against it for balance.

Perhaps it was the lingering touches, the bizarrely attentive advances from his boss, or the unfortunate reminder of an old pet name, but Rhys was suddenly overcome with lightheadedness. He closed his eyes while his head swam, carefully removing his ear protectors as nausea rippled through him. A pang struck his heart, and he pressed his forehead against the beam beneath his arm.

… _damn it, Jack._

“Rhys?” Isaac called, tone heavy with worry. “Is everything…”

The moment was interrupted by a shrill chirp from Isaac’s ECHO watch, and Rhys gave a silent ‘ _thank you’_ to whomever was at the other end. As Isaac turned away to study the message, Rhys found himself gazing up from where he gripped the booth, eyes lingering on a concrete slab that rested on the lower track at the far end of the lane.

Despite the overwhelming feeling of anxiety, his initial concerns about firing the gun, about remnant flashbacks crowding their way in, had faded markedly. Instead, it had felt surprisingly _good_. Necessary. In fact, it seemed to implant something in his mind, and he could almost feel the gears begin to turn in his head, as if working away on something unspoken.

“Whelp… There goes my day.”

Rhys flinched as Isaac appeared nearby, still tapping at his wristwatch.

“Oh?”

“Just another meeting…” Isaac frowned, then lowered his arm. He returned his attention to Rhys, following his gaze down the lane. “Something on your mind?”

“Actually…” Rhys paused in contemplation, rubbing at his jaw. “Is the range equipped with digistruct tech, by any chance?”

“We have some prototype tools available that are—” Isaac paused a beat. He stared at Rhys for a moment before a coy smile played over his face. “Did you just get inspired, Rhys?”

“Maybe,” he blushed. “I suppose it will depend on any flexibility outside my normal duties.”

“If you can prove yourself as well as you did with that security update, I’ll be sure to find you time for experimental builds,” Isaac nodded. “In fact, I already have your first challenge lined up.”

“Awesome.” Rhys felt a rush of excitement. His mind raced with the possibilities that were opening up before his eyes, and he was suddenly lost in a rush of potential. His eyes remained fixated on the concrete slab, when Isaac once again moved toward him.

“Rhys…please feel free to turn me down, but…are you busy this Friday?”

His mind went blank. His head swivelled toward Isaac, lips parting in surprise.

“I’d hate to overstep my boundaries, but… I’d really like to take you for a drink. If that’s okay with you,” Isaac’s smile was cautious, but he stepped confidently in Rhys’ direction. As he came again to hover at his elbow, Rhys wavered in disbelief.

“I…I’m not…” he uttered, awestruck. Isaac’s eyebrows shot up.

“Oh, you’re not?” Isaac stepped back; Rhys frowned in confusion. “Sorry… I thought I was getting…y’know, _vibes.”_

“Oh.” Rhys paled. “Oh! No, I am. I mean, I’m _both_ , but I…”

He smiled nervously, carding fingers through his hair. “I only meant that — _no_ , I’m not busy. I’d love to get a drink…”

Isaac’s expression lightened. “Great. So… I’ll send you details?”

Rhys blushed, swallowing hard. It probably wasn’t a good idea, dating one’s boss. But as he gazed at Isaac, held by his alluring, hazel eyes, he knew it’d be impossible to backtrack now. “…yeah. That sounds good.”

“Excellent,” Isaac smiled, and stepped back into Rhys’ space. He reached out and took his flesh hand, thumbing at the skin. “I’ll clean up here. You go enjoy your first day, yeah?”

“Thanks, Isaac,” Rhys dropped his head, watching their fingers interlock. “I’ll… uh, see you later then.”

Rhys found it difficult not to grin like an idiot as he headed back into the main office. He nodded greetings to a few newly arrived coworkers, and made his way back to his cubicle to slide happily into his seat.

The rest of the day was a blur. He vaguely remembered meeting his manager, before starting on the challenge Isaac had mentioned — a tricky improvement to an older SMG. He also recalled glimpses of coworkers, and encouraging messages from Vaughn, but it was all overshadowed by the lingering mix of _joy_ and _nausea_ that clung to his chest throughout the day. His heart palpated with excitement, but his stomach churned nervously over… _something_.

 _Something_ that had been there for months now. _Something_ that he had simply done his best to ignore. And as his day came to an end, and the elevator doors slid open, the smile on his face faded away as he found himself face to face with Handsome Jack himself.

Well, a _poster_ of Jack. But regardless, Rhys felt like he had been punched in the gut. He hesitantly stepped into the car, keyed in his floor, and sighed as he glanced back at the poster. Staring hauntingly at the image, his mind swirled at his eyes lingered on the Hyperion _Vision_ clutched in Handsome Jack’s hand.

_Damn it, Jack… Where’d you go?_


	2. Where Jack Went

_Finally._

He held his arms aloft, outstretched and upright as he raked over them in scrutiny. Stroking a finger down his tattooed wrist, he hummed his satisfaction, before spreading his hands and flexing them, rolling each finger joint. Then carefully, slowly, he balled them into fists, tight enough for his fingernails to stab into the skin, and when he opened his hands once more his eyes traced over the faint lines of blood in earnest. A flash of _accomplishment_ shot through his chest, where his heart beat was strong and powerful and _real_.

Jack couldn’t deny there had been a certain advantage to being a part of the Helios mainframe. The ability to reach out with ease and grasp tendrils of data at the farthest reaches of the space station and harness her full potential was downright intoxicating. It was power unlike he’d ever really known, and he _knew_ power. But for all the control it provided, it also lacked the freedom, the sensation, the _je ne sais quoi_ of a physical, flesh and blood body.

It was also significantly more difficult to maintain his facade of intimidation as nothing more than a face on a screen. He could still impose his will, pass out marching orders, and even harass his useless underlings, but there was something he missed about being able to strangle useless employees with his _own_ hands, goddamn it.

The human body came with vulnerabilities — this was something he knew better than anyone. But now that the propeller heads downstairs had done something _useful_ for once (at his behest and instruction, of course), petty issues like _mortality_ were a thing of the past. He was finally and literally back on his feet, and death was now no more than a _temporary inconvenience._

A grin crossed his features, stretching over his responsive, sterile mask. _I like the sound of that_ , he mused inwardly. _Handsome Jack has defeated Death itself._

Now that Jack had control over both worlds, having left remnants of himself within the Helios source code, he would be unstoppable. And Pandora would come to know what that truly meant. Especially now that the gaps in Jack’s experiences had been filled by the video footage and ECHO logs of his last few weeks of life — now that he knew the full extent of his losses on the planet below.

With some hesitation, he glanced sharply over his shoulder, eyeing the broken picture frame that was placed purposefully face-down on the desk. He flinched, growled, and turned his back.

Oh, he would make them _suffer_. And his plans were already underway, as Jack had almost immediately ordered troops and loader bots down to the planet to retake what had been lost in his absence. Because without the Warrior, his vault key, or Gortys, it would take a lot more to accomplish his goals.

Luckily, _a lot more_ was already on the way, quietly tucked away behind a money making facade of Jack’s own creation. Of which he was currently — _impatiently_ — awaiting an update.

Jack turned away from where he stood at the massive, looming windows of his darkened office, crossing the dais to his desk. He casually wiped the blood from his palms onto his jeans, then stabbed a finger into the interface that lit up upon his approach.

“Blake,” he snapped. “Where’s that report on the lockdown?”

“Coming in now, sir,”

_How convenient_. Jack rolled his eyes. “ _And?”_

“Everything has been secured with the exception of the trash compactor. Our forces have successfully retaken the tower.”

“How many survived?”

“Of the clientele, sir, or—”

“Assets only,” Jack growled. “The only number I care about, dumb-dumb.”

There was a very pregnant pause. “…just one, sir.”

Jack stiffened ever slightly. Well, shit. _That_ was annoying. He said nothing, waiting for Blake to clue in.

“…it was DG 21-C, sir.”

A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Clever boy.”

“Shall I have him brought to Helios, sir?”

“What? No. He’s still got a contract to fulfill,” Jack waved his hand dismissively. He sank into his throne-like office chair, fingers drumming on the arm rest. “Get the compactor sorted out, clean the place up, and open her back up.”

Another beat. Something itched at the back of Jack’s head.

“We _clear_ , pumpkin?”

“Crystal, sir. Orders have been sent.”

“Good. Now what about those Pandora chicks?”

“...nothing yet, sir,” he wavered. “But we’ve put a bounty out for them. And the robot.”  


“Blake, are you _trying_ to piss me off today?”

“No, sir, I—”

“Just get it done, or you’ll get to find out what the muzzle of my pistol tastes like,” Jack grunted. “You know, before I shoot the back of your head off with it.”

“...yes, sir.”

Just as Jack leaned forward to end the call, another sharp chirp rang from the panel. He grumbled, connecting to his latest hack of an assistant.

“ _What._ ”

“Andrews is here for your meeting, sir!”

“…Andrews?” Jack paused, lifting his head. Oh, yeah — new Head of Programming. “Ugh. Fine. Send him in.”

Jack spun in his seat, hooking an ankle over his knee as he idly glanced out into the dark void of space. This was just another in a series of inconveniences, now that he’d returned to power. It had become painfully obvious how useless his employees had been without his direction — something that he was quick to correct. A number of airlocks later, and he was still setting the station back into order. Really, it was little more than a show of force, a reminder of who was in charge, but Andrews was just another item to cross off that list. And as the man strode into the room, Jack cast him a disinterested glance, eyebrow quirked.

“Hello, sir. You wanted to see me?”

“Andrews,” he drawled. “You’ve got a lot to answer for.”

“Oh?”

Jack bristled. This wasn’t the reaction to which he was accustomed, nor expecting. He directed his scrutiny on the other man, eyes scanning the stylish young executive. Andrews’ confidence was particularly annoying — the fact that he could stand across from _Handsome Jack himself_ and not be intimidated in the least set Jack’s teeth on edge.

And was he _smiling?_

“You’ve been running Programming for six months now, correct?” he asked sharply, and Andrews nodded. Jack gestured to his holoscreen, tilting his head. “So there’s no one else to blame for these numbers I’m looking at, correct?”

Andrews nodded. “All me, sir.”

Jack gave him a tight grin, eyebrows sharp. “Care to explain yourself?”

“I am aware that my methods are unconventional, as far as Hyperion standards go, but I hope that these results are a sufficient justification for my actions.”

“We’ll see,” Jack narrowed his eyes. _Smarter than he looks, then_ , he grumbled internally. “What I’m curious to know is — how, when every other department _declined_ during my absence, your department’s numbers went _up?_ ”

Andrews smiled again, and Jack felt his trigger finger itch. “I’ve focused on a few improvements that have encouraged better output from my people.”

“Improvements,” Jack echoed skeptically.

“Yes, sir,” Andrews answered. “Honestly, there’s only so much I can explain here. You’d have to see for yourself.”

Jack considered for a moment, then folded his arms. “Okay then.”

Andrews’ eyes widened, and that stupid smile faded ever slightly. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Jack repeated, lips curling. “You can expect me to stop by within the month.”

_At last_ , a satisfying reaction. Andrews swallowed hard, eyes flickering distantly to the massive windows overlooking Elpis, before returning to Jack’s face. He’d called his bluff, and now Andrews would show his true colours—

“That should be _great_ , actually,” Andrews rudely interrupted his thoughts. “I believe we have a few product upgrades lined up for viewing, if you’d like to see what we’ve been doing.”

Jack rocked back in his chair in a huff. No, he didn’t like Andrews _at all_.

“Alright, fine, fine,” Jack shook his hand dismissively. “Good talk. You can go.”

“Thank you for your time, sir.”

Jack didn’t bother watching Andrews leave, turning immediately toward the windows with a scowl on his face.

Well, that was a change. Someone seemingly competent within his ranks. But time would tell — Jack would discover what the man was truly hiding down in Programming.

He wasn’t actually certain why he was annoyed by the department’s performance, when it was one of the only things working correctly around Helios at the moment. And with Jack busily setting his plans into action regarding Pandora, if Programming was self sufficient, he’d be more than happy to leave it that way.

But not until he’d seen it for himself.

Jack kicked out of his chair, returning to the windows to stare heavily down at Elpis. Oh, he had big plans. Mostly involving the skag-sucking, Vault-Hunter shaped thorns in his side. But for all the intentions, all the meticulously curated orders, Jack couldn’t help but shake one nagging feeling.

Something was _missing_. And what the hell could that be?

* * *

“Rhys?”

Vaughn dropped his messenger bag onto the island separating the kitchen from the living room, doing his best to shake off the tension of another day in Hyperion’s cutthroat Accounting department. He normally didn’t arrive home so late, but a mix-up by one of the new hires had quickly cast the whole floor into chaos, and with the recent intense pressure from the higher-ups, everyone was doing their best to avoid finding their way to the empty void outside of Helios’ walls. It made for a fairly stressful work environment, in a place that was already known for its share of breakdowns.

Now that he was home, all Vaughn wanted to think about was a cold beer, and planting himself in front of the VR system they’d recently added to their gaming setup. But as he turned toward the living room and his eyes fell on the television screen, his lips parted in disbelief. Vaughn took a shaky, slow inhale, and leaned back against the kitchen island for support.

“I’ll be out in a minute, Vaughn,” Rhys’ voice came from somewhere on his side of the apartment. Vaughn didn’t respond, staring in quiet misery at the image frozen on the television screen.

It had been about three months since the pair had returned from Pandora, and Vaughn was quietly curating a list of “things we don’t talk about” — which was relatively short, but important nonetheless. First on the list was Hugo Vasquez, Rhys’ former Hyperion nemesis and massive dickhead. The reason he was on the list was more for Vaughn than Rhys, as nightmares of the man’s body laid out on the ground still continued to plague him. Rhys had handled it well, not surprising given the history between the two, but regardless, it made the list.

The second item was Pandora in general. Vaughn could not deny there’d been anything good about their visit to the hostile planet — in fact, he almost missed the adrenaline pumping excitement of bandit races and death-defying shenanigans. But both Rhys and Vaughn had agreed that, in order to move on, to return to life aboard Helios, they’d have to commit to leaving it _all_ behind. He’d only wished he had time to say good-bye to Sasha and Fiona, but once Rhys’ devotion to Handsome Jack had been brought to light, they had made quick work of grabbing Gortys (along with her final piece) and getting the heck out of dodge. They hadn’t been heard from since, and it left Vaughn feeling a little raw and somewhat envious, honestly.

Pandora had been, well, _terrifyingly awesome_ , but for Rhys’ sake, Vaughn had put it firmly in the past — and on the list.

The last entry on the list was the reason it existed in the first place: Handsome Jack himself. It was for reasons that had rapidly become clear after they had returned to Helios, and Rhys had been more or less abandoned by his holographic hero.

For Vaughn’s part, his life had more or less returned to normal, only with half the enthusiasm he’d previously had for his work. They still went to lunch, still binged movies in the evenings, and still hit the Helios arcade on the weekends. But something yet lingered heavily in the air above their heads.

Vaughn had done his best to nudge Rhys in the right direction, quietly suggesting counselling and healthier activities. But Helios wasn’t exactly a bastion for mental health, and the last few months had been troublesome. However, with Rhys’ recent luck at work, Vaughn had felt a flicker of hope that things were finally turning around.

It wasn’t until Vaughn arrived in their shared apartment to find Handsome Jack’s face frozen in place on the screen, that any trace of that hope was snuffed out.

“Take your time…” Vaughn’s voice was tight. He leaned against the kitchen island as he stared at the screen, folding his arms across his chest. Rhys appeared a moment later, stripped down to his pyjama pants and towelling at his damp hair as he padded into the room. Vaughn put aside his brief concern at Rhys’ thin frame — he’d lost a fair amount of weight in the last couple weeks — to focus on the elephant in the room instead.

“Hey, bro. What’s…”

Rhys frowned upon noticing Vaughn’s blank look, before he followed his eyes to the TV. He visibly stiffened, but said nothing.

“Watching the Hyperion vids again, huh?” Vaughn asked sharply, an eyebrow raised.

“It’s not what you think,” Rhys grumbled. He rocked back on his heel, shooting Vaughn a defiant look. “Are you going to lecture me again?”

Vaughn sighed, pressing a finger to slide his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Rhys, why are you—”

“My first day went _great_ , bro, thanks for asking!”

Vaughn sighed, watching painfully as Rhys turned and towelled his damp hair. He moved around the couch and sank into it, dropping the towel into his lap.

“Sorry, Rhys. I just…”

“I get it,” Rhys mumbled, and Vaughn paused. “I haven’t exactly been coping well. But like I said — it’s not what you think. I got an idea for work, and I needed to reference something…”

“Oh?”

Vaughn did his best not to sound skeptical, but he wasn’t exactly tactful when it came to Rhys. Having watched him struggle since they’d returned from Pandora, Vaughn was a little overprotective of his best friend. He’d given him the benefit of the doubt at first, figured he’d needed an adjustment period. But Rhys just wasn’t the _same_ anymore, and there was little doubt as to why.

Vaughn glanced sharply back at the television screen, eyes lingering on Handsome Jack’s distinct smirk.

“So…what does that have to do with…”

Rhys shot him another glance. “Just watch.”

Vaughn wandered around and dumped himself onto the couch next to Rhys, sighing as his bro unpaused the video. They watched in silence as the action unfolded. As the perspective flipped, Rhys bounced in place, pointing sharply at the screen.

“Him!”

“The Vault Hunter?”

“Yes. Watch him.”

A short-haired soldier had appeared on the screen, a skilled opposition to the Hyperion troops. He expertly fired a DAHL rifle in a controlled line of spray, making quick work of the human infantry. They were immediately replaced with loader bots, which pinned the Vault Hunter down behind a barrier. In response, he tossed something into the air.

“That!” Rhys exclaimed.

While mid-air, the small box transformed, launching into a tall, impressive turret. It planted itself firmly to the first surface it touched, then unleashed a barrage of bullets into the Hyperion Loaders. Rhys paused the video.

“Isn’t this a _Hyperion_ promotional vid?” Vaughn laughed shakily. “That Vault Hunter made us look pretty bad…”

“They drive him off later — but — _look_. That’s not the point.”

Rhys rose, making a point of tapping on the screen, which caused Vaughn to wince. “ _That_ is a DAHL Sabre Turret. Impressive, top of the line, a thing of beauty.”

“Okay…” Vaughn paused. “And?”

The proud smirk that crossed Rhys’ lips was triumphant, and Vaughn felt some strength at the flicker of happiness. “And _I_ think I can do _better_.”

Vaughn turned and carefully examined his friend. There was something new there — something different. Rhys moved with a fresh strut, a surprising demeanour settling into his features. Vaughn, ever cautious, couldn’t help but beam at him. “So… Good first day.”

Rhys blushed heavily, then chuckled. “Uh…yeah. Great day.”

“Cool,” Vaughn eased back. “I’m glad, bro.”

Rhys smiled warmly at him before he headed toward his room. “Thanks, bro.”

Vaughn welcomed the flood of relief that washed over him, leaning back into the cushions. It had been too long since he’d seen a look of genuine glee on his best friend’s face. And even though he knew that it was only the first step in his recovery from his Handsome Jack addiction, Rhys was at least finally on his way to something better.

Vaughn hummed contentedly, gazing back to the television where the turret still remained frozen on the screen. His eyes traced its outline, before lingering on the blurred image of the Vault Hunter in the distance.

“Damn,” Vaughn chuckled. “Why couldn’t he have fallen for a guy like you instead? _”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bro.


	3. Rebound / Date Night

“Rhys.”

He pivoted at the sound of his name, coy smile flickering across his face. Rhys had been standing on a balcony overlooking the Hub of Heroism, waiting quietly and watching Hyperion employees mill about in the expansive levels below. At Isaac’s arrival, he pushed off from the railing, before running fingers through his meticulously gelled hair.

“Hello, Isaac.” Rhys’ greeting was cautious; he still felt peculiar about using his boss’ name so casually. It was quickly replaced by a minor thrill that rippled through him as the man’s hand came up to touch his arm.

“You’re quite punctual, aren’t you?” Isaac gave his elbow an affectionate squeeze.

“Only when I’m particularly excited for something,” he hummed back, and Isaac’s eyebrow rose. “So where would you like to get that drink?”

“Well, would you be up for a little adventure first?”

“Uh…yeah, sure. What’d you have in mind?”

Rhys almost flinched as Isaac’s fingers threaded through his. “It’s a surprise. Follow me.”

It was difficult to ignore the way his heart rate picked up as he followed Isaac through the network of hallways that made up the Hub. A soft tingle sparked through his fingertips and his eyes remained locked on where their hands fit together, but he said nothing as he trailed behind the man.

How had he lucked out so well? After months of enduring poor windfalls and something not distant from depression, how was it that things were finally going his way? After a careful pause, Rhys allowed his eyes to trail from their hands and up Isaac’s arm to his back. His black button-up rippled at the juncture of his shoulder and biceps, hinting at the dense muscle hidden underneath. Rhys’ breath quickly faded away as he watched the way Isaac moved with a confidence that did something strange to his stomach.

It was not unlike what he imagined Jack’s real body had been—

Rhys almost stumbled, squeezing his eyes shut. But before he could mentally berate himself, Isaac slowed to a stop, looking back at him. Their gaze met, and Rhys blanched before glancing away, feeling a blush in his cheeks. He turned instead to the location where Isaac had led him, and his jaw dropped.

“The arcade?”

Had he been paying more attention, he would have realized where he was much sooner. After all — Rhys and Vaughn practically lived on the Hyperion gaming floor; the arcade was easily his second home, and they had spent many an hour on VR stations and classic machines alike. Rhys grinned at the familiar lights strobing overhead, and looked back at Isaac in minor disbelief at his continued luck.

“Now _that_ was the reaction I had hoped for,” he chuckled. “I’m guessing you know your way around the place?”

“Too well,” Rhys admitted. “How’d you know? Please don’t tell me I look like the huge dork I secretly am…”

“Maybe a bit,” Isaac winked. “But it’s also hard to ignore your name on half of the leaderboards in here. Unless there’s _another_ ‘Rhys’ on Helios.”

He grinned, narrowing his eyes. “It’s not _that_ weird of a name, you know.”

“It’s a _little_ weird.”

Rhys snorted, and Isaac gripped his hand again.

“Come on,” he gestured toward the entrance. “Why don’t you pick the first game?”

Not having to be told twice, Rhys almost skipped across the hall. He led Isaac through the arcade by memory, scanning the room in eager interest. Before long, he settled at an old classic. Isaac paused at his side.

“Skeeball?”

“There a problem?” Rhys feigned concern, before sharply smirking. “Think that just because you’re a hot shot on the range, you can kick my ass here?”

Isaac’s head rocked back as he chuckled. “Well, look at _you_. I _like_ this side of Rhys.”

Something fluttered in his chest, and Rhys’ face felt warm. He turned and activated his cybernetics, scanning his membership into the lane before them. It immediately jumped to life, releasing a stream of balls into the trough at their feet.

“After you,” he motioned. Isaac reached for a ball, then carefully considered his mark. He lined up, tossed, and the ball rolled quickly up the lane, then hit the ramp and flew up. After a clunky descent, it dropped heavily into the ‘20’ hole, and Isaac frowned his disappointment.

“Well, crap,” he grunted, and Rhys laughed. He made to step past him to reach for a ball when Isaac grabbed his shoulder, pointing a finger directly into his face. “Don’t you dare use that eye of yours to cheat, now.”

“Pf,” Rhys snorted. “You're assuming I _need_ to use it to beat you.”

There was something captivating about Isaac’s wide smile, and Rhys imperceptibly shivered at his touch. He leaned again for a ball before noticing Isaac had not removed his hand.

“Uh, so…” he hummed, and a lump formed in Rhys’ throat as the hand moved from his shoulder and down onto the metal of his prosthetic. “How did this happen? If you don’t mind me asking…”

“Honestly?” Rhys blushed. “I volunteered. Figured it would help with my career.”

Isaac’s eyes widened, but at the lack of apparent judgment, Rhys relaxed. “Did it?”

“Somewhat,” he admitted. “But actually…it has saved my life more than anything else.”

“So it’s true then,” Isaac mumbled, in a tone that seemed akin to awe, and Rhys glanced at him in question. He was staring at him, searchingly, looking almost impressed.

“What is?” Rhys asked hesitantly, testing the weight of the ball he held.

“You were on Pandora.”

Rhys froze in his awkward position, wound up to toss. His brain short circuited and he stared unseeing down the track.

“I..."

“Hey, if you don’t want to talk about it…”

“No, I…” Rhys mumbled, avoiding Isaac’s gaze. He stared hard at the numbers around the targets, tracing their shapes as he fought off the urge to relive memories he’d buried deep. “It’s kind of…classified?”

“Classified?”

“Some things went down that I can’t talk about,” Rhys offered, then threw the ball. It went wide, hitting dully against the panel before rolling uselessly back in his direction. He watched it painfully, before sighing. “…and there’s just some things I’d like to forget.”

Thankfully, Isaac didn’t seem to notice his failed throw. Instead, his hand reappeared, but on his flesh arm this time. His expression turned shy as Isaac tugged Rhys around to face him, but he was met with a gentle smile. He stared carefully at it before meeting Isaac’s soft gaze.

“Hey, you don’t gotta talk about it now,” he nodded. “Why don’t you throw again. I distracted you. Oh — unless you were _lying_ , and you’re actually just crap at this game.”

Rhys floundered for a second, before shooting back with a grin. “You are going _down_ , Andrews.”

Isaac proved to be better at the game than expected, but Rhys still defeated him with relative ease. Their competition quickly fell back into something playful, and he found himself enjoying the sarcastic exchanges and fleeting physical contact as they continued to trade places. Before long they moved on, working their way through various arcade games. He particularly enjoyed watching the man climb onto a racing bike, doing his best not to shamelessly ogle the way his slacks tightened around his ass.

After two hours, and at the end of a decidedly heated air hockey match, Isaac managed to sink a tie-breaking goal mere seconds before the period ended.

“Finally!” he threw his arms in the air, spinning in a celebratory circle where he stood. “The master has been bested!”

Rhys folded his arms, feigning disgust. “Pf…I _let_ you win.”

Something glinted in Isaac’s expression, before he started his way around the table. “Did you now?”

Rhys almost stumbled as Isaac rounded on him, and he ended up half sitting on the table. He rocked back, grabbing onto the surface for balance as Isaac leaned steadily toward him. Suddenly caged in by Isaac’s hands, Rhys quivered at the body heat emanating from the other man grinning close to his face.

“You _let_ me destroy you, huh?”

“T-that was a close game!” Rhys’ laugh turned to a stutter, as he tried to remember how to breathe. “In what way did you _destroy_ me?”

“I guess you’re right…” Isaac chuckled, and Rhys nearly whimpered at how close they were, able to map constellations in his freckled cheeks. “I guess I’ll have to wait for that opportunity _later_.”

“…well, _shit_.”

Isaac’s eyes narrowed, his grin lengthening. Seemingly satisfied with Rhys’ reaction, he pushed off from the table, casually stepping back like he hadn’t just whispered suggestively between them. It took a moment for Rhys’ brain to reset, and another for him to react as Isaac took his hand once again.

“Come on…let’s go get that drink.”

“Yes, please.”

The hallways outside the arcade were noticeably cooler, and Rhys was thankful for it. He immediately realized how warm it had been during their air hockey battle, and subtly checked to see that he didn’t look too worked up. He glanced into the windows of various closed shops as they walked, happy to see in his reflection that his hair still looked _damn good_. He wiped the barest sweat from his brow, then stepped closer to Isaac as he followed him through the Hub.

Before long, they found a casual bar, and settled into some seats across from each other in the very back. Several drinks in, Rhys was feeling a healthy buzz when he heard a familiar chime. He briefly turned his palm upward, scanning the awaiting message before shooting a dismissive reply off and returning his attention to Isaac.

“Sorry about that,” he apologized quickly. “It was just Vaughn.”

Isaac paused, gazing over his beer. “Vaughn? A friend?”

“Best,” Rhys answered. “Also my roommate. He’s been my bro for years.”

“That all?”

Rhys lifted his head toward Isaac in confusion. “…sorry?”

“It’s not a ‘friends with benefits’, kind of thing?” Isaac asked, blinking slowly at Rhys. “Or a ‘secretly in love with you’, sort of deal?”

Rhys stared at his glass, finding he couldn’t immediately answer. There was something odd about the question, and his lips parted as he looked across at Isaac. “…no. He’s just…my bro.”

“I don’t mean to get weird,” Isaac offered, adding a hesitant smile. “Just had some bad experiences. Wanted to be sure.”

Rhys returned the look. “We’ve all been hurt. I get it.”

“Who hurt you?”

Again, Rhys wavered, before lowering his head to hide his pause behind a deep sip of his drink. 

“He’s not worth mentioning.”

“Well, regardless,” Isaac touched Rhys’ flesh hand, and he shivered. “It was his loss.”

Rhys swallowed hard. “O-oh?”

Isaac leaned forward, and Rhys could smell the cologne on him. Slightly loose with his inhibitions, Rhys allowed himself to inhale through his nostrils, humming happily as he fed off the subtle scent of something like cedar-wood.

“Him stepping aside means I get to have a chance at you.”

Rhys wished that his reaction had been different. That he might have shuddered, or even whimpered in delight. Instead, something cold gripped him. He flinched, eyes falling. _But he didn’t step aside_ , he thought groggily. _He just forgot about me._

The thought was short lived as Isaac’s hand appeared on his cheek. Rhys lifted his head, freezing as Isaac leaned toward him. Their foreheads touched, and Rhys’ eyes widened at the touch of Isaac’s lips brushing against his. He moaned weakly, then surrendered to the kiss.

“Rhys…” Isaac muttered against his mouth, and Rhys mewled in response. “…will you come home with me tonight?”

A beat.

“… _yes_.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hang in there, Kiddos. Jack's on his way.


	4. Where. Is. Rhys.

“So…”

“So.”

“There’s a gun range in the Programming department.”

Rhys chuckled, fumbling with the paper bag in his hands. “What, you thought I was kidding?”

“No,” Vaughn smirked, tearing his eyes away from the range below to glance back at his bro. He leaned forward to accept the sandwich that Rhys had pulled out of the bag and was handing to him. “But you have a tendency to exaggerate. I wasn’t expecting something so…serious.”

“I do _not_ exaggerate,” Rhys grumbled around a mouthful of bread and meat. “Name one time.”

Vaughn considered a moment, carefully unwrapping his sandwich, before shooting Rhys a knowing look. “Stacey.”

Rhys choked on his food, coughing roughly before glaring up at him. “Okay, fine. But that was at least _half_ true.”

Chuckling, Vaughn moved forward and pivoted, sinking into the theatre seat next to Rhys. For a few minutes they ate in contemplative silence, staring out over the range, before Vaughn shook his head and laughed.

“This is way better than your data-mining gig.”

“I know, right?”

“And the boss is a lot nicer, huh?” Vaughn spared him a wink before taking another bite of his sandwich. He’d only met Isaac a few times now, but he was quickly impressed. He also hadn’t failed to notice the way Rhys turned into a mumbling mess whenever he showed up at their apartment.

“It definitely has its perks,” Rhys said with a blush. “But hell, anything is better then _Assqu—”_

_Oh shit._ Vaughn glanced sharply at Rhys, who had frozen in place. He was staring at the floor, seemingly stunned.

“Hey, so — how’s the project going?” Vaughn barked, desperate to change the subject.

Rhys flinched, lifting his head. “…what?”

“You know. The turret,” Vaughn hummed, nodding toward the workstation set up in the range below. “You’ve been at it for a week now, right? Having much luck with it?”

Rhys sighed in frustration. “Well…it’s okay. It needs work.”

Vaughn felt a surge of relief. _Bullet dodged_. “How so?”

“Well, I’ve finally got a working digistruct prototype, but it’s just…it’s not good enough.”

“Not good enough for what?” Vaughn asked skeptically. “The way Isaac was talking about it the other night, you’d think it was ready to ship.”

“He _has_ to say that,” Rhys rolled his eyes. “Pretty sure he wants to make things, uh, official, you know?”

Vaughn’s eyes widened. “No way!”

“Yeah…” Rhys’ reply came quietly, and he picked at the last bit of sandwich in his hands.

“…is that not good?”

“It’s great,” he responded quickly. “I just…I don’t know. Ignore me. I’m hung up on this stupid turret, is all.”

“If the head of your department loves it,” Vaughn started slowly. “Then how is it ‘not good enough’, Rhys?”

He had a feeling he knew the answer. And at Rhys’ lack of response, Vaughn grew tense with suspicion. He turned in his seat, staring hard at his bro.

“…you’re trying to get his attention, aren’t you?”

“I beg your pardon?” Rhys turned on him quickly. “Who?”

“The turret is probably already perfectly fine,” Vaughn eyed him. “But not quite important enough to be shown to the higher-ups, I’m guessing?”

Rhys’ expression shifted into a cold fury. 

“When are you going to back off, Vaughn?”

He froze. This wasn’t the response he had been expecting.

“I can take care of myself,” Rhys spat. “I don’t need you mothering me. I don’t need you protecting me like I’m some wounded animal!”

Vaughn shrank back. He dropped his eyes to the floor. “Rhys, I was only trying to—”

“You should leave,” Rhys interrupted him, but he was looking away, “…lunch is almost over. You’ll be late.”

Frowning, Vaughn gazed at Rhys for a painful moment of silence before finding his way onto his feet. He collected his garbage, then moved to the door of the theatre, pausing to look back. Rhys was pointedly focused elsewhere, sunk deep into his seat, and Vaughn sighed.

“Sorry, Rhys. I’ll see you later, okay?”

The grumble that Rhys emitted was half-hearted, but Vaughn accepted it anyway. He pressed out the door and headed down the short hallway, groaning in frustration.

There was certainly a fine line between assisting in Rhys’ recovery, and stepping on his toes. Vaughn only wanted to help — in fact, he felt like he was obligated to set things right. He’d been there from the start, after all, encouraging Rhys in his misadventures on Pandora. And he’d already lost his trust once with the promises he had made to Vasquez in an attempt to get them back home in one piece. As a result, Vaughn was doing everything in his power to help get things back to the way they had been before Pandora. Before Jack.

But yeah, he’d definitely crossed a line or two along the way. With another sigh, Vaughn checked his watch, then headed toward the security doors.

His attitude lightened considerably when he returned to the main office to see Isaac hovering in the doorway of an office. He looked oddly apprehensive, but was smiling as usual. Vaughn grinned back. Isaac seemed like a good dude — one of the few approachable executives on Helios. He’d only spoken with him a few times since he’d started dating Rhys, but despite this, and all the tension between Vaughn and his bro lately, he was excited for them both. It was perfect timing, really; he was a much needed distraction for Rhys to get past his obsession.

Isaac glanced at Vaughn as he approached, and his smile faded ever slightly. Vaughn shrugged it off with a small wave.

“Hey, Isaac, what’s—”

“—really telling me _that’s_ the reason your results are up?” a very familiar voice drifted out from the office, one that sent dread through Vaughn as he slowed on approach. He froze at the sight of Handsome Jack eased back against Isaac’s desk.

The real, living, _breathing_ Handsome Jack. Vaughn felt his jaw snap open. “Come on. What’s your real deal?”

“I’m not sure what to tell you, sir,” Isaac replied with a casual gesture. “A relaxed workspace is a motivator for the right people. And I assure you, I only work with the right people.”

“So a couple extra days vacation, flexible hours — that’s _working_?” Jack snorted. “You didn’t have to threaten them at all?”

“No, sir.” 

“Huh. No kidding.” Handsome Jack turned and Vaughn suddenly really, _really_ wished he had had the foresight to back away sooner. Jack’s eyes landed on him, briefly, but Vaughn caught the double take as he tried to skirt behind Isaac and toward the elevator.

“Heeeeey, _Muscles_!”

Vaughn winced as he ground to a halt. He felt eyes on him, and noticed a couple curious — and frightened — glances over cubicles in his direction. Taking a breath, he hazarded a look over his shoulder, and there was Handsome Jack, standing behind him in all his flesh-and-blood glory. He loomed over him, with his hands on his hips, _like one of Rhys’ damn posters_. Vaughn stared, unspeaking. _This just isn’t possible._

“Long time no see, kiddo,” he chuckled, defying Vaughn’s inner thoughts. “Still weirdly buff?”

“H-Handsome Jack, sir,” Vaughn squeaked. “How… how are you here?”

“I know, right?” Jack smirked, gesturing to himself. “Unbelievable, right? Thing of beauty, right here.”

“Sir…”

“What was your name again?” Jack strode toward him while snapping his fingers, and Vaughn shrank back.

“V-Vaughn.”

“Right. Hey, weren’t you an accountant? What are you doing…” Jack paused. Vaughn stiffened as he watched Jack’s expression shift, before the man turned to glance about the room.

_No, no, no,_ Vaughn’s mind raced.

Jack snapped back and eyed Vaughn, as if he had heard him. “Alright, Muscles… _Where is he?_ ”

“Who?” Isaac asked, looking at Vaughn in question. Handsome Jack didn’t respond. He was moving down the aisle, peering into cubicles and past open doorways. Isaac watched in bewilderment, but Vaughn only felt that heavy dread growing in his chest. He flinched as Jack rounded back on him, angled eyebrows sharpened in his direction.

“Out with it, cupcake,” Jack hissed. “Where. Is. _Rhys_.”

Isaac’s eyes snapped wide. Vaughn avoided his gaze, shrugging in response. “He… he’s in the range.”

Jack tilted his head. “Range?”

“Mister Strongfork is working on a prototype,” Isaac answered for him. “I had some facilities installed for testing purposes, so we could—”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Jack waved his hands, and Isaac frowned, closing his mouth. “Show. Don’t tell.”

Isaac gestured for him to follow, and Vaughn took a careful step back toward the elevator when he felt a hand clasp on his shoulder. “Ah-ah, Muscles. You’re coming with us.”

Vaughn shuddered under Jack’s hand. It was _warm_. Like, _real flesh_ warm. Jack seemingly smirked at his reaction before redirecting him to follow Isaac. They crossed the large room, returning to the large metal doors on the opposite end. Isaac pressed his hand to the interface, and the doors slid open. A distant, muted rattling of gunfire and the gentle boom of music hit them as they moved into the hallway.

Isaac led them to the theatre, and as he opened the door, the gunfire had ceased, but the music grew louder. Rhys was sitting down below, furiously typing away as he stared into one of the holoscreens before him. Vaughn exhaled shakily. Thank goodness he was so obsessed with the project; he was too absorbed in his work to notice their figures in the dimmed room behind him. Vaughn lifted his eyes from the back of Rhys’ head to Jack, who stared down at his bro with an unreadable expression.

Unreadable, but for a subtle hint of _intent_.

* * *

The last place Jack ever expected to find Rhys was a gun range. Sure, he was sat at a desk beneath the glow of not one but _three_ separate holoscreens, _the dork_ , instead of standing with a firearm in his grip — _which would be hot, by the way —_ but it was still an interesting surprise.

Why was that interesting? Anyway.

Jack’s eyes finally broke away from Rhys’ intensely rigid figure to move to the screens. The one he typed at was lit up with code, too far away for Jack to scan. The monitor to his right was a video feed overlaid with an inactive HUD. The camera was pointed at a concrete slab, which Jack noticed to be the one at the far end of the room. The slab was on a track, pristine, but there was a considerable amount of rubble cast about the floor around it. He watched in wonder, brow quirked.

Rhys was bobbing his head. The music he had on the loudspeakers was some techno-y bullshit, all fast paced and electronic. Jack rolled his eyes — of _course_ Rhys liked this crap. It was safe and boring. _Just like my Rhysie_.

But it seemed to be helping, at least. Rhys was _in it_ , typing at a speed that would’ve been impressive for the cybernetic hand alone. He paused once or twice, glancing at the third screen, which looked to be compiling his code. After a few minutes of silence Jack felt his patience wane, and he nearly turned to find his way down into the range when Rhys stabbed a decisive finger into the keyboard, before gesturing both hands toward a podium placed at the front of the range.

For a moment nothing happened, and Jack almost laughed. Then suddenly, hard lines of light etched themselves into existence. A six-foot tall turret digistructed upon the platform, solidifying into something _real_. Jack’s lips parted as he watched the thing take shape and burst into action. Even behind the thick glass, the turret was _loud_. Hundreds of rounds rattled off at the concrete slab, puncturing hard and deep. Rubble erupted into dusty clouds across the room.

And Rhys, like some kind of badass, wasn’t even _watching_. He was busily focused on the camera feed, where the HUD leapt to life. Jack quickly realized that it was measuring the effective penetration into the slab, with yellow lines tracing a geographical map across the surface as it was eaten away by the rounds. Jack watched as Rhys studied the numbers on the interface with great intensity.

After a couple minutes, the turret slowed to a stop, glowing red. Then as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, leaving behind nothing but the pile of rubble, and about a half foot of concrete slab. The track kicked into gear, wheeling the remains away into shadow, before replacing it with a fresh, untouched piece.

No one moved. Jack offered a quiet ‘huh’, but there was nothing otherwise. Rhys was leaned back in his chair, sitting very still. His hands were up and threaded through his hair as he studied the screen, arms hugging the ear protectors around his head. Jack knew that look, even from behind. Frustration absolutely emanated from his tense frame.

The digistruct turret was impressive — even Jack could admit that. But it wasn’t fast enough. And there was still a half a foot of slab left in place.

But still. Sure. _Impressive_.

“That reminds me of a DAHL turret,” Jack muttered.

“Yes,” Isaac confirmed. “He said he got the idea from some old footage of a Vault Hunter. He was pretty certain he could expand on the idea.”

“Expand?”

“Bigger. Faster. Stronger,” Isaac said with a smile.“Carries more rounds. Comes in a smaller package. Better motion tracking. A beauty.”

Jack suddenly felt annoyed by Isaac’s warm expression. He leaned back, staring suspiciously at the man, who was in turn watching Rhys — and a little too closely at that. Was he perhaps a little more than just Rhysie’s boss? Jack exhaled sharply at the thought, narrowing his eyes at Isaac before returning his attention to the range down below.

“He was in Data Mining…”

Isaac glanced back at Jack in surprise, but his obvious questions went unspoken. 

“The promotion was pretty recent. He was the one that discovered the back door in the network.”

Jack’s eyebrows shot up. “That was him?”

Isaac nodded. “So I brought him on board to work on some older weapons lines, and he has done nothing but impress since then. Even blew away the first test project I gave him.”

“Test project.”

“Just a tricky update,” Isaac hummed. “I wanted to see how he handled an upgrade on a Plasma Caster. The Yellow Jacket.”

“And?”

Again, with that idiotic smile. “He increased the splash damage by an additional twenty percent.”

Jack snorted. He stared at Rhys, who had resumed his rapid-fire typing, nodding along with his music. “On the Yellow Jacket. With the already _seventy percent_ splash damage.”

“Yup.”

The way he snapped the ‘p’ was so stupid. This definitely wasn’t the normal pride of an employer. This was _affection_. And it was sickening.

Jack bristled, and pivoted very suddenly toward the door. He paused, however, shocked and more than a little pissed off when he saw the yolked accountant there, blocking his way. Vaughn looked terrified, but determined.

“Out of the way, Muscles,” Jack growled. 

“Jack,” Vaughn croaked. “ _H-Handsome_ Jack. Sir. You can’t.”

“I’m sorry, what was that, cupcake?” Jack snorted. “I _can’t?”_

Jack’s shoulders tensed as he loomed over the little man. He tilted his head, eyes narrowed as he stepped toward him. It had the desired affect — mostly. Vaughn had shrunk back in horror, as expected, but he did not get out of his way. Jack’s fists clenched.

“I-I mean…” Vaughn took a deep breath. “Sir. Sorry, sir. But he’s just finally getting back on his feet. I just…”

“What does that even mean?” Jack snarled.

“When you… I mean, when he… the time spent on Pandora… it did a number on him,” Vaughn stuttered. “He had a real rough time. It took a while, but he’s doing better. I think. But if he sees you…”

Jack straightened. He never would’ve guessed. In fact, he hadn’t thought about their time together in _months_. It was only when he spotted that buff weirdo that he even remembered sweet, sweet little Rhysie.

Jack glanced down at him. The kid _looked_ fine. But maybe Vaughn had a point. Not about protecting him, no — Rhys was made of sterner stuff. But maybe this just wasn’t the right moment to strut in and blow the kid’s mind.

Not with Muscles and _Stare-y-mcGee_ lurking about.

“Alright, Short-stack. Have it your way.”

“Really?” Vaughn gawked. Jack gently smacked his cheek twice, nodding.

“Sure thing, cupcake. I’ll leave him be.” _For now._ “Don’t mention me, mmkay?”

Vaughn shuddered. Jack glanced at Isaac, who had been watching in cautious silence. “You either. Understood?”

“Understood,” Isaac said with a nod, but his face said otherwise. Jack turned to face Rhys once more, arms folded behind his back.

“Okay, kiddos. You are dismissed.”

At first, nothing happened. The two exchanged glances, unsure of what to do, so Jack audibly seethed, brow sharply furrowing. “ _Go. Away._ ”

Isaac headed out the door with a confused, but wary look. Vaughn hovered another moment before he moved out the door, leaving the man to watch Rhys alone.

Jack’s eyes lingered heavily on Rhys’ tormented form below. Since he had returned to a corporeal form, a presence had quietly been lingering at the back of his mind. It almost constantly niggled at him, but he had paid it little attention — having more important matters at hand. Staring down into the gun range, he realized now what it had been this whole time. He’d been so focused on chasing down all that had been lost that he’d made the mistake of neglecting what was already _his_.

As Jack carefully watched Rhys, a tight smile stretched its way across his mask. Soon, he would be sure to correct that mistake.

* * *

It just wasn’t good enough.

Rhys stared blindly into the depths of his palms, wracking his brain. His head spun as he ran the calculations and considered the variables. There was something missing, something he should be getting, but it just wasn’t _there_. Firstly, the turret didn’t load fast enough. Axton could deploy his turret in less than three seconds, and that was _including_ the extra loadouts — shield, additional arms, laser. Rhys’ was slower even in its more basic form.

Secondly — despite the hundreds of rounds fired across the room, he still hadn’t managed to obliterate the concrete base. 

It wasn’t good enough. _Rhys_ wasn’t good enough. Not for this. Not for Hyperion. _Not for Jack_.

Rhys growled, leaning forward to set his forehead on the desk. Vaughn was right. He couldn’t leave well enough alone. It was almost four months now since he had been _abandoned_ , and not by a person, no. By a damn _hologram_.

_I fell for an AI_. Rhys groaned audibly, closing his eyes. How was that a thing? How did something like that just happen? And of course, it had to be him. A lowlife, wannabe dork like him.

“God _damn_ it, Jack!” Rhys slammed his cybernetic fist into the desk, leaving a significant dent in the desk’s surface; the holoscreens quickly winked out. He fell back into his chair, bringing his hands up to his face. Rhys felt his shoulders heave as he hissed into his palms.

“…damn it.”

He slid down in his chair, running his fingers up and into his hair.  Rhys fully understood that he meant nothing to Jack. Never had. All he was was a means to an end. An end that came and went long ago, and Rhys was the only one who couldn’t move on.

He arched his back, and the chair moved with him, leaning impressively far back. He wrung his hands through his hair, then let them fall limp, hanging backward. And as his eyes reopened, they settled on a fuzzy figure standing in the dark of the theatre overlooking the range. Rhys blinked once, twice, the familiarity of that shape nagging at him. _Is that…?_

The chair gave out and Rhys slammed backward onto the floor; his head smacked against the metal and he winced.

“Okay,” he gasped, sitting up and gazing in a daze at the broken office chair beneath him. “So it doesn’t go that far. Got it.”

Rubbing away the lances of pain in his skull, Rhys cautiously turned back to gaze up at the theatre. It was, predictably, empty. An irritated, exhausted sigh escaped him, and he laid back onto the floor in defeat.

“Aaaand now I’m seeing things,” he mumbled.

“Rhys?”

He flinched, a fresh blush spreading across his cheeks as he noticed Isaac lingering in the doorway to the range. “Are you okay?”

“F-fine…” he stuttered, climbing up from the destroyed chair to pat the dust off his clothing. “Just got into an argument with my chair, is all.”

Rhys laughed shyly at his admission, glancing back toward Isaac. The other man seemed distracted, however, gazing with some hesitation toward the empty theatre.

“What’s up?”

“Just thought I’d check in on you.”

Isaac advanced across the room, tentatively setting a hand against Rhys’ hip. His other hand drew up, and Rhys shivered as fingertips danced across his jawline. “You’ve been in here for hours. How’s the project coming along?”

“Well…” Rhys gazed out across the range, attention lingering on the pile of rubble accumulating at the far end. “…could be better.”

“Oh, nonsense. I’m sure it’s fine.”

“I mean—”

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you something…” Isaac interrupted him, thumbing at his cheek. “There’s an event this Thursday — just a small function for the various department heads and executives. Hors d'oeuvres, drinks…that kind of thing.”

Rhys’ heart palpated. His hands came up to rest on Isaac’s chest as he was tugged bodily closer to the other man.

“…would you care to join me for the evening?”

Rhys swallowed hard. He floundered, lost in Isaac’s hazel eyes as their heads drifted nearer, angled just right so he was tempted to lean forward and close the remaining distance. “You want me to be your date?”

“Of course,” Isaac hummed, smiling knowingly. “I wouldn’t mind having a pretty thing like you on my arm for the night… And you’ll help keep me distracted from the predictably dull conversations I expect to be drawn into.”

“Oh, so I’m just your eye candy, am I?” Rhys teased.

“You betcha,” Isaac leaned in to press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. Rhys couldn’t help the swoon that escaped his lips.

“Okay, I’ll go.”

Isaac chuckled at his immediate answer, giving another tug at his hips. Then something flickered behind his eyes, and Isaac glanced briefly over his shoulder.

“Speaking of _distractions_ … Think I can persuade you to take a break from work?”

Rhys followed his gaze to the storage room off of the gun range. A ripple of delight shot through his core as Isaac gently pulled him toward the room, eyebrows poised in question. His hands gripped the lapels of Isaac’s jacket where they rested against his chest.

“Oh, _absolutely_ …”


	5. The Soirée

“I’m sorry, pumpkin. You wanna run that by me _again?_ ”

“It’s all gone, s-sir.”

Jack rocked back on his heels, almost shuddering with the fury that rippled through him. The mousey researcher in front of him quivered behind her data pad, eyes wide as she waited for Handsome Jack to decide her fate. He stared heavily at her for a moment, allowing a stray hand to wander to the pistol holstered at his hip, but then merely exhaled his frustration, turning to pace toward the edge of the roof.

This was not how it was supposed to go. Jack’s return to Pandora was meant to be _triumphant_ , like when he and Wilhelm had rolled into New Haven. It was supposed to send a message to the bandits and Crimson Raiders alike — Jack was back, and the end was nigh! Instead, he was presented with an endless list of losses, including the massive eridium storage that had been warehoused at this nondescript facility.

Jack allowed his gaze to stray downward to the massive hole in the side of the Eastern wing of the facility, a gaping maw of twisted wreckage and scorch marks. There was something familiar and loathsome about the pattern of burns etched across the metallic surfaces, and Jack felt a fierce and all-consuming rush of hatred that tugged his lips into a snarl.

“Can you _track_ it?” he hissed. “Was there nothing left behind?”

“T-the camera feeds were f-fried,” she admitted in a squeak. “And we’ve only been able to indicate p-point of entry, b-but not how they left with that amount of supply.”

Jack visibly seethed. “It’s because she didn’t _need_ an exit…”

_That cock-sucking, teleporting bitch._

Jack pivoted so suddenly that the small researcher nearly screamed. He stalked toward her, gingerly placing his hands onto each side of her face as she shivered beneath him.

“Sweetheart,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’mma need to kill something, mmkay? You be a dear and find me something to shoot, before my gun is aimed at _you_.”

“Yes, sir!”

Jack set back to stroking his pistol grip as the researcher dashed away, leaving him alone on the rooftop of the facility with his entourage of loader bots. He spared them a passing glance — a pair of SGT Loaders standing at attention — before returning to the edge of the roof. Blake had suggested a number of Hyperion troopers for Jack’s surface-bound visit, ever concerned about his security, but Jack had denied him immediately. And not just because he was basically _immortal_ at this point. 

Bots were susceptible to certain Siren abilities, but they were _loyal_. Because they were _programmed_ that way, damn it. You couldn’t find that kind of devotion in a human workforce, no matter what you paid them. There was the innate fight-or-flight response, and there were _always_ hidden ambitions or intentions. Jack had only ever trusted his life to a very limited number of people, and that list had gotten drastically smaller in the last year. But if his plans for Pandora were to come to fruition, that would have to change.

Jack hummed in thought, staring unseeing over the vast desert plains of the Dust. He lifted his arm, mouth hovering over his watch.

“Blake. Where are we at with the intel on Sanctuary?”

A beat passed before any response came, and Jack felt his irritation begin to flourish anew.

“We’ve had some luck, it seems. One of my spies has managed to infiltrate the Raiders. It appears that they have been considering disbanding in the last few months…”

As Blake trailed off, Jack thumbed at his pistol yet again. There was no doubt that the reason the anti-Hyperion terrorist faction had lost steam was due to their victory in bringing down the Warrior. It was yet another reminder of what he’d lost.

Jack glanced sharply over his shoulder, growling aloud upon noticing the small researcher had yet to return.

“A-at any rate,” Blake stuttered. “We should have a report before long. I’ll send it over as soon as it arrives.”

“ _Fine,_ ” Jack grunted. “But don’t keep me waiting.”

“No, sir,” Blake answered. “Will you be returning to Helios then?”

Gazing down at the wreckage of the facility, Jack folded his arms over his chest. “I may as well. Coming here was a waste of my damn time.”

“So will you be attending tonight’s event after all? If so, I’d like to coordinate security.”

Jack lifted his head. “Event? What event?”

“The executive soiree. I believe you intended to solidify your return to power?”

He really meant ‘ _corral the failures and line them up for the firing squad’_ , but — same thing, really. Jack grunted his annoyance. He’d forgotten all about the damn party.

“I don’t give a crap about—” Jack froze. His eyes yet lingered on the destruction in the distance, a thought niggling at him. 

_Stop chasing what you’ve lost._

“Is there an Isaac Andrews on that list, Jimmy?”

Jack heard Blake quietly sigh. “…yes, sir. It would appear he has an RSVP confirmed for two.”

A vicious, tight smile replaced the snarl on Jack’s mask. “Alright. Count me in, cupcake.”

“Very good.”

Jack pivoted, starting on his way across the roof. The SGT Loaders followed in his wake as he made his way toward his shuttle.

“Oh — and Blake? I’ve changed my mind.”

“About what, sir?”

“21-C. Bring him home.”

“At once, sir.”

* * *

“You know, I’m not one to toot my own horn—”

“You literally do all the time.”

“—but I look _damn good_ in a suit.”

Rhys hovered in the front hallway of their apartment, gazing into the full length mirror hanging from the wall. His eyes ran down the length of his reflection as he preened, and he carefully adjusted the ‘H’ shaped cufflink at his left wrist.

He’d gone for a fairly simple outfit — black, slim-fitting slacks that matched his one-armed jacket, and a white dress shirt. He left the top button of the shirt undone, where it sat open across his collarbone, enough to provide a subtle glimpse of the curved tattoo beneath. There were accents of Hyperion yellow throughout his outfit, to match his cybernetic arm that was on full display. Rhys reached up to run a finger along the disc bordering his right shoulder, content with how it slipped into place to cradle the connection with his prosthetic.

Behind him, Vaughn watched from the couch, chin pressed to his palm. He’d been fairly quiet since their minor spat the other day, but at least they were back on speaking terms.

“Remind me where you’re going?” he asked.

Rhys leaned forward to carefully adjust his coiffed hair. He’d kept his normal style, but his cowlick was making a rather annoyingly timed reemergence. However, as the two locks of hair fell casually down over his forehead, he eased back in surprise.

“Damn. I am looking _good_ tonight.” Rhys aimed a pair of finger-guns at his reflection, and Vaughn snorted. “We’re just going to some function for the higher-ups. I’m not super keen, but there’ll be free drinks, so… I guess I’ll just have to put up with their nonsense. I mean, this is probably just a chance for them to compare their bank accounts.”

This earned a laugh out of Vaughn. “Or to compete for who’s airlocked the most employees this month.”

Rhys chuckled, then paused as he felt a flush of shame. He gazed back at his roommate, rubbing his neck. “Listen, Vaughn, I—”

“I’m sorry.”

Rhys watched as Vaughn climbed up off of the couch. He made his way into the hallway to join him, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “I was a jerk. I feel terrible.”

Again, that wash of regret.

“It’s good, bro,” he smiled. “I’m glad you’re watching out for me. Really.”

“Well _someone_ has to.” Vaughn’s expression lightened. 

He raised his arm, and Rhys met the fist bump with enthusiasm.

“Thanks, bro.”

A knock at the door caused the pair to jump. Rhys laughed nervously, before opening the door with an assist from his ECHOeye. Isaac casually leaned into the doorframe, quirking an eyebrow his way.

“Delivery for Strongfork.”

Rhys swallowed hard. Isaac wore a trim blue suit that did not fail to accentuate the broad build of his upper body. His eyes danced across the crisp white shirt underneath, to the strangely familiar red tie. For a strange, clawing moment, a mental image of that tie bound around his wrists flashed in his mind, and he felt a blush rise in his cheeks. Isaac gazed down in question, only to lift his head with deliciously narrowed eyes.

“Like what you see, Rhys?”

“Holy shit.”

“Aaaand that’s my cue.”

Vaughn paused long enough to shake Isaac’s hand before passing out into the hallway. Watching the exchange filled Rhys with a fresh bloom of happiness, and as Vaughn gazed back at him, the two mutually beamed at one another.

“I’m gonna go meet up with some of the Accounting guys. See you later, bro.”

“Maybe,” Isaac murmured, and Rhys slapped a hand to cover his face.

“See you, Vaughn,” he whimpered.

The door slid shut behind Isaac, and he advanced immediately. Rhys’ back was suddenly against the wall; he rocked in surprise as lips descended on his neck. The touch was heated and insistent and Rhys grasped at Isaac’s shoulders, holding on for dear life.

“You look good, babe,” Isaac purred into his ear. “You look—”

Isaac pulled away briefly, and Rhys opened his eyes with a frown. He caught Isaac staring pointedly at his cybernetic arm, with a look that made Rhys uneasy.

“Something wrong?”

“No, it’s just…” he hummed. “You don’t have another jacket, do you?”

Rhys leaned back against the wall. “Uh…maybe. Is the arm a problem?”

“Not exactly,” Isaac shrugged, attention continuing to linger on the prosthetic. “It’s just a little distracting, you know?”

Glancing down at his arm, Rhys winced. Was it wrong to feel offended? It might be silly to be defensive of the bulky, ugly thing, but it was literally a part of him. It had become a big piece of Rhys’ identity, and between it and the ECHOeye, he was particularly self-conscious.

But then Isaac’s finger was on his chin, guiding his head back to draw his attention, and the flutter in his stomach staunched the feeling.

“I just mean that you’d look killer in the full suit, tiger,” he breathed. “The arm will get all the attention when people should be looking at _you_.”

_But the arm_ is _me—_

Isaac suddenly leaned forward to hungrily consume Rhys’ mouth. Hands tugged at his waist, and he surrendered, moving forward into Isaac’s grasp. After a few breathless minutes of being pinned against the wall beneath Isaac, Rhys whimpered his acquiescence.

“Okay,” he moaned, breaking away to steal a breath. “I’ll change.”

“Good,” Isaac thumbed at his chin. “I’ll help you.”

* * *

They were late for the party. Fashionably, he supposed, but it was still somewhat embarrassing to walk into the expansive space once the main event had clearly ended. The room was absolutely abuzz with conversation as Isaac and Rhys wandered in to join the fray.

Rhys had to pause for a moment as they moved over the threshold and into the hall. The room was vast — with towering walls that rose into a peaked dome overhead. A holographic display was beamed into the space over their heads, depicting a surprisingly detailed view of the galaxy, and Rhys’ eyes scanned over the scene as he picked out the various planets — Eden, Tantalus, Hieronymous. He paused briefly at Promethea, captivated by its blue glow.

The rest of the room was moderately packed; there were bars at opposite ends, and most of the immaculately dressed executives flocked to these points. Beyond them, however, Rhys spotted a raised dais, where several looming windows looked out into the dark void of space. There was an itch at the back of his neck, and he felt tempted to make his way over there. Despite living on a space station, he wasn’t often afforded such an intimate view of the outside.

However, Isaac was tugging at his hand, and he was instead led to a small group of execs standing nearby. They all looked to be typical Hyperion stock — pompous and well to do. No doubt they all owned homes in Opportunity, and boasted salaries of which Rhys could only dream. As they approached, they greeted Isaac warmly, and pointedly ignored Rhys. He quietly grumbled, before putting on a fake smile.

“Andrews,” a rather rotund, red faced man on the left raised a glass of champagne in their direction. “About time you arrived.”

“My apologies,” Isaac nodded, then squeezed Rhys’ hand. “I was a bit occupied.”

“Well, you missed the announcement,” a small, pointy-faced woman beside him murmured. She gestured across to the third man. “Jeffrey, would you care to fill Andrews in?”

To Rhys’ right stood a blond, stern looking fellow. He was taller even than Rhys, with a markedly lean build, and an almost catlike appearance. He gazed absently toward them both, and Rhys scanned over his sharp, angular face in muted curiosity. There was something about him — something that Rhys recognized, but couldn’t place.

“That’s fine, Blake,” Andrews waved his hand. “I think I know what it was about.”

“Indeed,” Blake responded in a bored tone. “And how did that visit go for you?”

Andrews stiffened — only enough for Rhys to take notice.

“As well as you’d expect.” He turned to set a hand on the small of Rhys’ back. “But I’m being rude. I’d like you to meet my boyfriend, Rhys.”

Rhys summoned all of the dignity he could muster as to not react. The word hung in the air over him, and an imperceptible shudder ran down his body, which he concealed by stepping forward to shake Blake’s hand, moving to the others as they introduced themselves. Rhys didn’t even manage to register their names as he glanced Isaac in the corner of his eye, trying not to blush.

“Lovely,” the woman hummed. “Aren’t you a pretty little thing.”

“And familiar,” Blake turned toward him, gazing up and down his frame. “How do I know you?”

“Not sure,” Rhys admitted, feeling flushed. “I—”

“Rhys here is a bit of a rising star in Programming,” Isaac interrupted, with no small amount of pride in his voice. “He caught the backdoor that the Dahl spy had installed on the network.”

Rhys blanched. _That was_ _Dahl?_ Well, no wonder he’d gotten their attention.

“Well done, you,” the larger man chuckled. “That was certainly a big to-do. How many people did he load into the moonshot over that debacle, Matilda?”

“At least ten,” she wriggled, almost taking delight in their demise. “I’m surprised it wasn’t more, with the warpath he’s been on.”

“He’s distracted. Lots of cleanup to be done. Especially now.”

_They mean Jack._

Something quietly dawned on Rhys, and he looked around the packed room, doing his best to seem casual. His eyes snagged on every glimpse of blue light, but he was left disappointed, and at the passing of a server carrying a tray of champagne glasses, he bitterly snagged a pair. He handed one to Isaac, and was rewarded with an affectionate rub of the hand at his lower back.

Isaac gave a snort of derision. “As long as it keeps him busy and leaves us to run our departments, that’s all that concerns me.”

The group collectively gasped and guffawed in response, seemingly taken back by Isaac’s cavalier attitude toward their intimidating leader. Blake was the only one who looked unimpressed, and it was then that Rhys noticed he was still glancing at him, presumably trying to place how the two knew each other. Rhys met his gaze, and his mind snapped to a halt.

As the revelation struck him, he couldn’t help but blurt: “Oh — you work for Jack!”

Yet again, Isaac stiffened at his side. Blake’s eyebrows went up.

“We _all_ do, honey,” the woman chided, but Blake waved her off, stepping forward to carefully examine Rhys. He seemed to have noticed his neural port, and was leaning forward to inspect it.

“Ah, that’s right,” he nodded. “You’re that Pandora fellow. Strongfork, was it?”

Rhys swallowed hard. “Uh, y-yes.”

“I recall your debriefing. Very interesting. Have you recovered from your harrowing trip?”

Drawing back, Rhys angled slightly away from Isaac’s heavy stare. “I have. Thank you.”

“That’s good.” Blake nodded toward him. “You did Hyperion a great service, Mister Strongfork.”

“Yeah… No problem.”

Rhys heard a buzz, and Blake sighed, before gazing downward at the ECHO device strapped about his wrist.

“Ah…apologies. There’s something I must attend to,” he hummed. “Please enjoy your evening.”

As Blake moved past, Rhys briefly caught Isaac’s eye. He was looking back at Rhys, expression somewhat accusatory, but he said nothing, instead turning toward the others still remaining in the group.

“So. How is Propaganda treating you, Matilda?”

Rhys sighed his relief into his glass of champagne, downing half of it in one gulp. This was going to be more difficult than he anticipated. But as another server passed close by, immediately refilling his drink, he quickly changed his tune.

He trailed Isaac for some time, listening politely to the exchanges with various executives in the room. It proved to be more than a little amusing, as they traded barbs and quietly insulted others nearby. But every so often, someone would notice Rhys’ ECHOeye, and the conversation would be briefly occupied by his cybernetics.

After the third time someone leaned forward to examine Rhys’ eye, Isaac gripped his wrist, and offered the barest excuse before leading him away. Rhys felt something heavy in his stomach as he followed Isaac up the steps to the dais, but his interest was piqued by finally having reached the looming windows overlooking Pandora.

“Wow…” he groaned his appreciation as he leaned against the thick glass, hopefully sounding only _moderately_ buzzed. “She almost looks beautiful from up here.”

Isaac hummed his agreement, hovering at Rhys’ elbow.

“I wish you’d tell me about your time there.”

Rhys winced. He gazed at Isaac, whose face was turned downward toward the planet, and bearing an unreadable expression.

“It wasn’t important,” Rhys whimpered. “It was…”

Isaac stepped toward him, carefully palming his cheek. Rhys leaned into it, shivering against the cautious flutter in his chest. Isaac’s behaviour had been so unpredictable that night, he was thankful even for the smallest show of affection.

“When we go home tonight,” Isaac murmured. “I’d like to know.”

Rhys swallowed hard. He tried to turn, but Isaac insistently tugged him closer. “…yeah. Okay. I’ll tell you what I can.”

_That doesn’t have to involve Jack_.

Seemingly satisfied, Isaac dropped his hand from Rhys’ face down onto his hip. He leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss against the corner of his mouth. Suddenly, Rhys recalled the surprising interaction at the start of the night.

“So…boyfriend, huh?”

Isaac looked sharply at him. “Problem?”

“No, no, of course not,” Rhys shook his head. “I just…I suppose we’ve never said it out loud before.”

Isaac grinned, then moved his hand to Rhys’ lower back. He nuzzled at his cheek, and Rhys wriggled when the touch turned ticklish.

“Rhys,” he chided. “You’ve been at my place every other night for the last two weeks…”

“Pf,” Rhys snorted. “And you think that means I _like_ you?”

The was a charming glint in Isaac’s eyes before he leaned in and briefly snagged Rhys’ lips.

“In fact,” he went on, lingering close to him. “Tomorrow will be a month since our first date.”

Rhys eased back, eyes wide. A month, already? How had that happened so quickly? Isaac’s hand tugged at him, and suddenly their hips were pressed together.

“So what do you say to dinner after work? A little anniversary celebration?”

Rhys was wordless for a moment, before he closed the space between them and kissed him. Fingers threaded into the hair at the back of his head, and Rhys moaned. He was lost in the reverie of it, too drunk on Isaac to care if there was any attention on them. And Isaac didn’t seem concerned either, despite the throngs of Hyperion executives hanging about — a fact that caused Rhys’ toes to curl.

When Isaac pulled away, and Rhys was left breathless, he grinned stupidly. “Why don’t we go celebrate _now?”_

Isaac chuckled, squeezing his arm. “I’m afraid I have to stick around a while longer… but I’ll definitely take you up on that later. Now. Shall I get us some more drinks?”

“Sure,” Rhys nodded. “But if I have a hangover tomorrow, you get to explain it to my boss.”

This only served to encourage the man; Isaac almost growled as he leaned toward him. But he managed to show remarkable strength, as he paused only long enough to leave another small kiss against Rhys’ jaw before moving away in the direction of the bar.

“Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”

Rhys watched Isaac wander off into the lounge before issuing a happy sigh. He turned to the windows looking out into space, easing his shoulders back as the initial tension of the evening finally began to fade. His eyes roved across the expansive, black void of space before lingering on Pandora far below.

Despite the bizarre, lingering unease in his stomach, Rhys felt more or less content. Between his satisfying work, and his budding relationship with Isaac, he was starting to wonder if this was all a dream. After all the scraping and struggling, Rhys had finally arrived at something _tangible_ and _lovely_. And it looked nothing like what he imagined — there was none of the luxury and status and recognition for what he had once held ambition. But it made him happy, and Rhys was quickly discovering that was all he really wanted.

He felt a tentative blush cross his cheeks as he watched over Pandora, eyes following the lines of terrain across its massive surface. Rhys suddenly felt weightless, lost in the reverie of the evening, and did not even flinch when something brushed his arm. He hummed his thanks, casually accepting the glass nudging his elbow.

“Thank you,” he purred.

“No problem, kiddo.”

A frantic, cold sensation crept up his veins. Rhys’ brain short-circuited, and his cybernetic arm twitched in response; he very nearly dropped the champagne glass as he spun in utter shock.

“… _Jack?_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goddamn it, Rhysie. "Flags? What red flags?"


	6. Return of the King

Something that felt suspiciously like _desperation_ shot through Rhys as he scanned Jack’s face. His gaze slowly and meticulously traced the sharp angles of that ever-familiar mask, before flickering in disbelief between those haunting blue and green eyes. He nearly staggered back a step as a sharp pain rocketed through his chest, instinctively bringing a hand up over his heart. The very room around them suddenly felt _smaller_ with the other man’s presence — and he somehow looked so damnably _casual_ about it all, like it wasn’t half a miracle that he was standing there at all.

Rhys’ gaze was moving from the laid-back grip Jack’s right hand had on his champagne glass, to the place where his left hand rested near his hip, a thumb hooked into the lip of his jeans, when he heard Jack softly chuckle. Only then did he realize how long he had been staring, and he brought his eyes up in quiet amazement. Jack tilted his head with a smirk, and Rhys’ breath escaped him in a whisper.

“Heya, pumpkin,” he winked. “Long time no see. Did you miss me?”

Rhys’ jaw slipped. “Jack… you’re not _blue_ , you’re…”

Jack flinched as Rhys stupidly touched his face. His hand came up to gently grasp Rhys’ wrist and pull it away, and the touch was startlingly warm. “Hey. _Hey_. Hands to yourself, Rhysie.”

“You’re… how’re you…” Rhys gawked, taking him in from head to toe. “Jack, you’re real. Like, you’re here. You’re _alive!_ ”

“Well, ‘alive’ is a subjective term,” Jack hummed. “More like ‘rocking the most advanced synthetic clone form this side of Promethea', but yeah. In the fake flesh, baby.”

Rhys’ hands twitched, but he wasn’t entirely sure why. His initial shock still clung to his chest, and he found that he didn’t know how to behave or even respond. His entire body was screaming and all he could focus on was Jack’s hand still around his fingers, thumb rubbing circles on his skin.

“You look…” Rhys stuttered, meeting Jack’s gaze again. “ _Good_.”

“Impressive, right?” Jack chuckled, and Rhys wasn’t certain, but it seemed like he moved the slightest bit closer. “Took a bit of getting used to — first couple of days in this thing, I tried walking _through_ people once or twice.”

Rhys genuinely laughed. “Well hey… at least when you try to strangle someone now, it’ll be a lot more satisfying.”

“Here’s hoping,” Jack’s voice had dropped; he winked again and Rhys flushed.

Something flashed in Jack’s eyes, and he briefly lifted his head to stare somewhere over Rhys’ shoulder. With a frown, Rhys turned to follow his gaze, but Jack’s hand released his and lifted to gently grip his chin, turning his face back toward him. Rhys desperately tried not to shiver under his touch and failed miserably.

“Whatcha been up to, kiddo?” Jack hummed, scanning over Rhys’ face. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Where have _I_ been?” Rhys snorted, as he tugged his chin free from Jack’s grasp. “Where do you think? Where have _you_ been?”

“Hey, come on, Rhys. Hyperion’s not gonna rebuild itself,” he chuckled. “I’ve been putting us back on the map! _That_ map, specifically.”

He trailed Jack’s gesture toward Pandora.

“And I gotta admit, I was a little upset you disappeared on me.”

Rhys’ head swivelled toward him. “What? You’re pissed at _me?”_

“Yeah.” Jack sidled closer, smoothing his hand along Rhys’ back to drape an arm around his shoulders. “Here I am putting the greatest company in existence back together, _and_ building a brand spankin’ new bod _,_ and I realized my main man Rhys just _vanished_ on me! I mean, you brought Handsome Jack _himself_ back from the dead. And what do you do? Ask for an executive position? A penthouse in Opportunity? A month long trip to Aquator? No — you wander back to your sad, lonely existence. What the hell, kiddo?”

“Well, I’ve gotten a _promotion_ since then…” Rhys winced. “And there’s no way I’m going back to Pandora, even for a penthouse suite. But I…”

“Shut up, Rhys,” Jack rolled his eyes, then tugged on his shoulder, pulling him close. Rhys’ eyes snapped wide and his mouth snapped shut. He did his best to ignore what little space lingered between the two as Jack’s broad chest pressed against his arm. “What I’m saying is — why did you just disappear? Where have you been?”

Rhys considered for a silent moment, eyes lingering on the floor. He shrugged yet again, his answer nothing more than a soft mumble. “I guess I didn’t think you needed me anymore. I served my purpose.”

“Well, you’re not wrong,” Jack shrugged. Rhys glowered at the insult. “But it’s not about _need_ , cupcake.”

Rhys opened then closed his mouth. He avoided Jack’s stare, gazing into his glass of champagne before taking a shaky sip. “I, uh…what do you mean by—”

“Rhys?”

_Oh thank god_.

Jack dropped his arm as they turned in unison to face Isaac, but merely used the moment to trade his glass between hands and reset his _other_ arm around Rhys’ shoulder. Rhys glanced nervously at Isaac, whose intense stare flickered between the two. The heavy look was familiar, and it niggled at Rhys, but fairly quickly gave way to shame.

“Isaac!” Rhys exclaimed. His eyes fell on the glasses in Isaac’s hands and he stared dumbly at them. The tightness of Isaac’s face snapped him back into reality; Rhys downed the champagne from Jack, set it on a nearby table, and accepted the full glass from Isaac. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome…” Isaac muttered in response. His attention had returned to Jack, and the two briefly regarded each other in silence. “Handsome Jack, sir. It’s nice to see you again.”

_What?_

“Andrews, right?” Jack asked with calm disinterest. “Did you need something?”

“Actually, sir,” Isaac cleared his throat. “Rhys and I were—”

“Oh, man — did I interrupt here?” Jack grinned, giving Rhys’ shoulder a shake. “You here on a _date,_ Rhysie?”

Isaac tensed and Rhys glared sideways at Jack. 

“Actually, yes,” Isaac answered for him, and Rhys’ heart did a flip.

“Aren’t you his boss?” Jack countered, unabated. “Not worried about the ethical implications?”

“ _Ethical implications!_ ” Rhys drawled. “This from _you?_ Jack, do you listen to yourself sometimes?”

“Always, pumpkin. Have you _heard_ my voice?”

“Too much,” Rhys teased back. “It was a little hard to get out of my head.”

“Oh, _har har._ ” Jack’s fingers played in the hair at the nape of Rhys’ neck. “Admit it — you loved it, you little _fanboy_.”

Isaac cleared his throat, and Rhys immediately frowned. He gazed sharply at Jack, realizing he was still comfortably tucked underneath the man’s arm, before he skirted out from under his grasp. In the next instant he was at Isaac’s side; his partner did not smile, but placed a tentative hand on the small of Rhys’ back. He offered an apologetic look, missing Jack’s stare as he regarded the pair with distaste — something that did _not_ go unnoticed by Isaac.

“…well, kiddos, I’ll get out of your way. Got things to do.”

“Cheers, Jack,” Isaac nodded, and Jack’s eyes narrowed.

Silence loomed between the three of them as Jack straightened, an eyebrow raised in Isaac’s direction.

“It’s _Handsome_ Jack, cupcake,” he growled, and Rhys felt as Isaac tensed up.

“Well, good night, _Handsome Jack_ ,” Rhys bristled, giving him a sharp look. Jack merely smirked at him before curtly nodding.

“Night, kitten. I’ll see you around.”

Jack swallowed his drink in one gulp before tossing the glass onto the table. It rolled off the edge and smashed on the floor, but Jack was already gone.

A heavy, thick silence lingered in his wake. Isaac had turned to watch Jack leave, hand still on Rhys’ lower back, but as soon as they were alone it dropped away. Rhys frowned at the loss.

“So. _That_ was interesting.”

“Don’t get me started,” Rhys sighed. “Sorry. About Jack. He’s a bit… _forward_.”

“That’s certainly a side of him I’ve never seen,” Isaac uttered, taking a sip of champagne. “I mean, I’ve seen him _predatory_ before, but not possessive.”

Rhys’ brows snapped upward. “Possessive?”

“Oh please,” Isaac grumbled. “He was all over you, Rhys."

“That’s just Jack. He gets off on making other people uncomfortable.”

“And how do you even know each other, by the way?” Isaac asked, brow furrowed. “You two have some history I should know about?”

“Can we not do this?” Rhys snapped, hackles up. “It’s nothing. And I don’t really want to talk about it.”

Isaac regarded Rhys angrily, but did not press the issue. He sighed shakily into his glass, taking another long drink. Having emptied it, he moved away from Rhys, mumbling something about “getting another…”

Rhys found himself alone, again, and wondering what the hell had just happened. He groaned his annoyance, turning back to the window.

“Fucking _awesome_ ,” he uttered bitterly, eyes falling back on Pandora’s taunting shape far below. What else could go wrong?

* * *

  
The rest of the night wasn’t as bad as Rhys had expected. A few more drinks had Isaac loosened up, and the man was all grins and jokes as the couple returned to the crowd. Rhys played along, enjoying some of the exchanges with the other executives, but stayed relatively quiet. He tried not to lose himself in thought, afraid of where it would go, instead staying close to Isaac’s side. But every so often he caught himself gazing around the crowd, searching for a face that was nowhere to be found.

It was around midnight by the time he found himself outside his apartment door. He fumbled between trying to unlock it and holding Isaac upright, an arm looped around the drunk man’s waist. He tried not to laugh as Isaac giggled against him, nuzzling Rhys’ neck, and led him into the dark apartment. Vaughn was possibly still out somewhere, or had retired for the night — either way, Rhys tried his best to shush Isaac’s laughter.

“Well. What an interesting development,” Isaac murmured close, nose playing at the curve of his ear. “We both appear to be in your apartment…”

“God, you’re drunk,” Rhys snorted, pinning Isaac against the kitchen island to keep him upright as he shuffled out of his shoes. “Do you not remember the walk over here?”

“Oh, I remember _everything_ ,” Isaac stilled, folding his arms tightly around Rhys’ waist. His toes curled as he was pulled against his chest, their hips jutting together. Isaac’s hand crossed his shoulder and wove up into his hair, snagging his head back. Rhys whimpered in delight, neck bared, eyes fluttering closed as Isaac’s hot breath licked on his skin.

“I remember every. Single. Moment. _Rhysie.”_

Rhys’ eyes snapped open. He looked at Isaac and suddenly the man wasn’t smiling anymore. In fact, he seemed strangely in control, like they hadn't been drinking the entire evening. Rhys tried to pull away, but he was held firmly in Isaac’s grasp as the other man's expression darkened.

“Isaac, what—”

“Oh right, you _hate_ being called that,” Isaac growled. “Except when it’s _him_ saying it, huh?”

“What the hell does _that_ mean?” Rhys winced, a flush of heat at the back of his neck.

“It means you looked pretty content, cozying up to Jack,” Isaac spat. “Sorry. _Handsome_ Jack.”

Rhys’ cybernetic arm snapped up, breaking him free from Isaac’s hold. He stumbled backward, bumping into the couch. “Isaac, you’re drunk.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about him, Rhys?” Isaac ignored him, advancing. “And don’t try to tell me it’s nothing — if it was nothing, you would’ve told me.”

“It _is_ nothing. Or at least not what you think.”

Rhys hissed in surprise as Isaac snagged his wrists.

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” he seethed. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. The way he watches you.”

Rhys lifted his head. He hated the way his stomach flipped, even now. “The way he… _what?”_

“I don’t even know what I’m doing here,” Isaac cursed. He released Rhys and turned sharply toward the door. “You’re obviously not over him.”

“For fuck’s sake, Isaac. He was _inside my head_ ,” Rhys threw his hands up in the air, voice suddenly loud. “Of _course_ I’m not over it!”

Isaac’s eyes were wide as he regarded Rhys. He opened his mouth, hesitated, then headed for the door. Rhys, having realized what he’d said, reached out, narrowly missing Isaac’s wrist.

“Isaac, that’s not what I mean! I meant that literally. _Literally_ inside my head!”

Isaac gave him a pointed look, somewhere between confusion and irritation, as he lingered in the doorway. “You…ah… you can explain whatever the hell _that_ means tomorrow. I’m out of here.”

The door was quickly shut in his face and Rhys found himself staring daggers into it, wondering for the second time that night _what just happened?_ His fists clenched at his sides, worrying lines into his suit. 

What an _asshole_. How could he make assumptions like that about Rhys and Jack? It wasn’t as if Rhys was actually _cozying up_ to Jack.

He frowned, easing back in thought. Well, sure, he hadn’t really moved away when Jack was — what — _petting_ him? But he was so used to it, even months later, having Jack just _there_ , beside him. It was still so hard to shake the odd comfort of his presence that Rhys hadn’t considered what it might’ve looked like to anyone else. And to be fair, it was the first time anyone could actually _see_ them together.

Rhys rubbed his eyes, sighing in frustration. Well, fuck.

He didn’t turn when he heard the quiet movement of a door, or the footsteps slowly padding up to him. His forehead pressed against his cybernetic arm on the wall and he quietly groaned against it.

“…how much did you hear?”

Vaughn didn’t answer right away. He imagined his bro shrugging, contemplating the best response. “…just the end.”

Rhys spun and placed his back against the door, shoving his hands into his pockets. He winced at the initial sight of Vaughn in nothing but his boxers, still taken off guard by his carved physique. If anything, he’d gotten _more_ ripped since they’d returned, and now Rhys was feeling like shit _and_ self conscious.

“I think I just got dumped.”

“It certainly didn’t sound good,” Vaughn stared at the floor. “But I doubt he dumped you. Isaac’s crazy about you.”

“Well… not after tonight. And honestly…I’m not sure that’s a bad thing.”

His wrists still stung where Isaac had held him. Rhys rubbed them contemplatively as he passed by Vaughn and returned to the living room. He sank into one end of the couch, joined soon after by his roommate.

“So what happened? Things didn’t go well at the party?”

“Things were great at first. But then _Jack_ happened.”

Vaughn froze. “As in… _Handsome_ Jack?”

“Who else?” Rhys snorted. “He got a little… _handsy?_ Just being typical Jack. But Isaac took it the wrong way… but I don’t think I can blame him.”

“Handsy?” Vaughn asked quietly, still not meeting Rhys’ gaze. “On you?”

“Like, _ridiculously_ so. Had his arm around my shoulders, and was like _pressing—”_ Rhys tried not to shiver. “But he was just _teasing_. It was nothing. I think. But Isaac didn’t agree.”

“The alcohol probably didn’t help,” Vaughn offered a smile. “Just wait until he sobers up. Talk to him about it tomorrow.”

Vaughn glanced at Rhys in surprise when he narrowed his eyes at him. Rhys drew a sharp breath.

“You have _got_ to be kidding me.”

“What, bro?”

“You _knew_.”

Vaughn went pale and Rhys elicited an audible growl, standing up to palm at his face. Rhys had only been suspicious at Vaughn’s lack of reaction to Jack _physically touching_ him, but his nonresponse was the only confirmation he needed.

“Bro, what the hell!?”

“Rhys, I’m sorry.”

“When did you find out?” he snapped, pivoting to look back at Vaughn’s hunched frame on the couch. “When did you even see him?”

“That day we had lunch,” Vaughn admitted with a shrug. “He was meeting with Isaac. I ran into them.”

“And what did he say to you?”

“Actually, he got a little _frantic_. Like he just suddenly remembered we existed. Then he forced me to bring him to you—”

“The range…” Rhys groaned, closing his eyes. _The way he watches you._ “Well, that explains it…”

“I’m sorry, bro,” Vaughn sighed. “I wanted to tell you. But I was hoping he’d leave you alone.”

Rhys snorted. “Jack? Why would he do that?”

“…because I may have asked him to.”

“You… _what!?”_

“Rhys, you were getting better!” Vaughn insisted, and Rhys turned away. _This bullshit again._ “I didn’t think it would be good for him to come crashing back into your life, so—”

“So who the hell asked you?” Rhys shouted.

Vaughn fell silent, shrinking back.

Rhys growled, sagging. “I just…I… this has nothing to do with you!”

“Nothing to do with me?” Vaughn flinched, like he’d hit him. “…I’m not sure if you remember, but I was on Pandora, too.”

Rhys dropped his hands.

“And to be perfectly honest? I didn’t really _want_ to come back,” Vaughn’s voice tightened, and Rhys felt a flush of shame. “But I knew you needed it. And you’re my best friend, Rhys. I had to be there for you. I just wanted you to be _okay_ again.”

Vaughn almost seemed out of breath when he finished. Rhys said nothing, and the silence that went up between them permeated heavily through the small space of their apartment. They exchanged looks, and Rhys found himself caught between wanting to shout at his bro and hug him. Instead, he simply let out a shaky breath, and turned his back.

“I…I’m going out for a bit. Don’t wait up.”

He was out the door and heading down the hallway before Vaughn even responded. His head was spinning, stomach roiling with a strange mixture of regret and anger as he left the residential sector and made his way toward the Hub of Heroism.

Vaughn was wrong, right? Rhys wasn’t _that_ broken when they’d returned from Pandora. Sure, he’d fallen into a bit of a listless depression, feeling unmotivated and a little unsure of what he was doing or where he was going. But he’d never realized just how bad it must have been to have hit Vaughn so hard.

And he hadn’t even _wanted_ to come back? Rhys felt shocked at the revelation, but it was hard to forget Vaughn’s excitement when they were down on the surface. Even after they’d almost _died_ , his bro was in his element. The man seemed more suited to bandit life than being stuck in Accounting.

So was it true? He’d only returned because of Rhys?

With a sigh, Rhys palmed his face, rubbing his eyes as he walked. Between the chaos of emotions that evening, and the champagne diet, he was feeling more than a little overwhelmed, and suddenly, wandering the Hub seemed like a bad idea. He should have just stayed—

“Date not go well then, Rhysie?”

Rhys twisted in disbelief, eyes wide as he spotted Handsome Jack striding toward him. His hand moved to Rhys’ lower back as he joined him, a sharp grin etched into his mask. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon…”

“Jack…” Rhys breathed, eyes dropping to his arm. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing, pumpkin,” Jack smirked, nodding sharply away from them. “Couldn’t help but notice you’re standing outside _my_ elevator.”

Rhys glanced away in alarm, eyes lingering on the elevator that went to Jack’s office. _How did that happen?_ He swallowed hard, at a loss for words, and Jack merely chuckled as he moved forward. His fingers brushed Rhys’ chin.

“You lookin’ for a night cap, kitten?”

“No. No, I—” Rhys stuttered, shivering as Jack’s hand tugged him close. As their hips were pressed together, Rhys’ voice all but evaporated, and he dizzily stared down at where they made contact.

“You looked good tonight, Rhysie,” Jack hummed, mismatched eyes running up and down his suit. He reached forward and thumbed at his collar, but Rhys had the feeling he was actually glimpsing what was _underneath_. “Better, anyway. We’ve got work to do, but you clean up well… That for me?”

Rhys grunted in sudden annoyance, hands coming up to gently push Jack away. “How the hell would I know I’d be seeing you?”

“Come on, don’t tell me it was for that _idiot_ ,” Jack narrowed his eyes, refusing to relinquish the grip he had on Rhys’ waist.

“It _was_ ,” Rhys snapped. “Because he’s my boyfriend.”

“Oh _please_ ,” Jack’s expression shifted to something imperceptible. “Rhysie, you can do so much better.”

“What, like _you?”_ Rhys snorted.

Jack’s hand drew up and snagged into Rhys’ hair. He jerked in surprise as Jack walked him back a few steps and shoved him hard against the wall, pinning him there. An involuntary shudder ran through his body at the heat of Jack’s tongue moving along the curve of his jaw before he chuckled darkly at his ear. “You _wish_ , kiddo.”

Rhys’ reaction did not seem to be what either of them expected, when he couldn’t stop the soft moan from slipping past his lips. He froze in alarm, as he felt Jack tense up beneath him, and when he opened his eyes in muted horror, Jack was inscrutably scanning his face. After a long, agonizing few seconds, Jack leaned forward and caught Rhys’ mouth with his own.

A slow, surreal moment passed as Rhys struggled to register what was happening. And then he was pressing back against the wanton kiss with rivalling fervour, hands scrabbling at Jack’s neck to bring him impossibly closer.

He briefly worried about their fairly public display, that anyone could walk past and see Jack lifting him up. That they would notice the way Rhys’ legs wrapped around Jack’s waist, how his hips canted against the wall. But as Jack crushed his mouth beneath his own, the concern was especially fleeting.

Oddly enough, all he could focus on was Handsome Jack’s probing tongue and the hands on his ass.

With the encouragement, he moaned again, dragging his fingers along Jack’s back as he ducked his head to Rhys’ neck. Rhys revelled in the wet heat of Jack painting him with saliva before sucking hard at the skin. A thrill shot through him, and he could do little more than thread his fingers into Jack’s hair and tilt his head backward to give the man room to work.

“ _God_ , Jack,” he whimpered. “Please, I—”

And just like that, Jack’s warmth was gone; Rhys stumbled as his legs suddenly dropped beneath him. He leaned against the wall, looking up in surprise to watch Jack lean past him to palm the elevator panel. The doors slid open and Jack stepped back into Rhys’ space long enough to pat him on the cheek with a smirk.

“Have a good night, kitten.”

Jack disappeared into the elevator and the doors slid shut, leaving Rhys alone. For several minutes, he stared unseeing, heart racing, cock half stirred, before he rocked back against the wall and groaned.

“What the _fuck_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 


	7. You Belong to Me

Rhys sank against the wall of his shower, surrendering to the spinning in his head. He groaned complaints at the disorienting sensation, pressing his palm to his forehead as the headache rocked its way through his skull. Remnants of the previous night clung to him like a bad dream, the least of all being the resulting hangover. No, it was something close to shame — not just at having allowed Handsome Jack to effectively dry hump him against the wall, but the fact that he had returned home alone, and pleasured himself not once but _twice_ in the Hyperion President’s wake.

But really, after a display like that, who could blame him?

At the memory of the tingle of Jack’s lips, of hands groping at his ass with frenzied intent, Rhys tipped his head back with a shudder. He was in serious trouble — for as much as he tried to deny it, all of the gnawing frustration and depression of the last few months finally made sense. And in that brief, glorious moment the night previous, _it had all_ _disappeared in an instant._

He was hung up on Handsome-fucking-Jack. And following the short-lived respite from that empty, _wanting_ feeling, and after having spent himself into his hand for the second time that night, Rhys had been left with nothing but the darkness of his room, at a loss for what to do next. At some point amidst the long, sleepless hours, he eventually remembered Isaac, and he at last realized the full extent of what he’d done.

What would he even say to him? Should he say anything at all? Perhaps he could pretend like nothing had happened, as if he had simply gone to bed and dreamt everything?

Rhys found himself seriously, _desperately_ considering the latter option. But the notion was dashed as soon as he remembered it was _Jack_ he was dealing with — a man who made a habit of appearing at the least convenient times. In fact, Rhys did not put it past him to swing by to rub in the fact that he had been a mewling mess in his arms. Which, hey, also meant that he might get to see Jack again, but…

But what? Wait, what was he talking about?

A sudden knock at the door caused Rhys to jump, smacking his head on the shower nozzle in his return to reality. He groaned, rubbing at the spark of pain.

“Hey, Rhys? Uh, just a head’s up — you might want to finish up soon.”

Panic surged through him and his eyes snapped wide; his ECHOeye flickered to life in support of Vaughn’s warning, flashing the time in bright, red numbers. He ignored the flush of dread, instead flipping the nozzles off before leaping out of the shower, nearly slipping across the tiles in the process. As he gingerly lifted his prosthetic from the counter and lined it up with his arm, he chanced at glance at his reflection, but grumbled to note the glass was distorted with fog. But as his body jolted with the raw sensation of the connection being completed, he quickly forgot it, and barely had a towel around his waist by the time he had thrown open the door and was running to his room.

“Shit!” he uttered, passing a perplexed Vaughn in the hallway. “Thanks, bro!”

“Uh… no problem!”

He plucked up articles of clothing throughout his room, tossing on a black undershirt before he managed to locate an inoffensive smelling and only slightly wrinkled button-up on the floor. Then he was wriggling into a slim pair of slacks, and pulled on his second Mercenary’s Day sock to fumble his way back into the living room. Vaughn was standing near the front door, watching in quiet bewilderment as Rhys dashed about in search for his things.

“Hey, Rhys?”

“I know, I know — long night,” Rhys mumbled as he ran into the kitchen, frantically reaching for something edible. He settled on an apple, then headed for the door to join Vaughn. “Thanks for the save, bro.”

Vaughn shrugged his response, only to rub uneasily at the back of his neck. “So, uh…I guess you guys made up after all, hey?”

Rhys furrowed his brow in question. Upon noticing Vaughn’s wary glances his way, his stomach flipped over, and he stepped into the hallway to gaze into the mirror. A heavy groan ripped free from his lips.

He was absolutely _wrecked_. Between his messy hair, his jostled clothing, and the _expansive, dark collection of hickeys surrounding his tattoo,_ he looked well and properly fucked. Figuratively speaking, of course. And while his coif was at least salvageable, there was little to be done about the state of his neck. Rhys smacked a hand to his face, as the realization finally crept its way over the horizon.

_That clever bastard_.

“God damn it, Jack…” he sighed, lowering his hand to scrutinize the marks and doing his best to ignore and shame the minor thrill it sent straight to his dick.

Vaughn went rigid. “Bro, _no_. You can’t be serious.”

Rhys shrugged. “I can’t… I… what do I do?”

A quick confirmation of the time indicated that, yes, he was screwed. He momentarily considered calling in sick, but there was something about the idea of Isaac stopping by the apartment to check on him that made him feel peculiarly anxious. Like anything that was said between them would be best done in a public setting.

Rhys ignored the implications, _as usual_ , and set to buttoning up his shirt as high as it would go. It did little good, as Jack had pointedly left a bruise at the corner of his jawline for good measure. And like, _when_ had that happened? He was pretty sure their interaction had lasted _maybe—_

“Did you really see Jack last night?"

Rhys straightened with the defensive impulse, turning his glower on Vaughn. Their argument from the previous night returned to him in a heavy rush, only adding to the already chaotic curl of his stomach.

“Vaughn, do _not_ judge me right now. I don’t have time for this.”

His roommate said nothing as he shoved past, only pausing to lock the door once they exited the apartment. Vaughn had to race to catch up to his long-legged gait once Rhys started toward the transit hub, single-mindedly set on getting to work on time.

By some strange stroke of luck, or something else, there was an empty car awaiting their arrival. Rhys moved inside to brace himself against the wall, as a fresh wave of nausea from the previous night’s alcohol consumption passed through him. He checked the time again, grunting his frustration, and when he deactivated his HUD he noticed that Vaughn had been silently staring at his jaw. Rhys gave him a sharp look, to which his bro flinched, before turning his attention to the shuttle map on the wall beside them.

Despite the urge to feel hostile, Rhys forced himself to take a breath. He never enjoyed arguing with his best friend, and could not help feeling the slightest nag of remorse. While it was difficult to force an apology right then, he made a mental note to track his bro down later. You know, _after_ the impending shit storm.

The shuttle slid to a stop, and an overhead _ping_ signalled his arrival.

“I’ll, uh…see you later, dude,” he uttered; Vaughn frowned at his departure.

“Good luck, bro.”

Rhys gave Vaughn a final, mournful glance, one that his bud immediately returned. It wouldn’t do him any good to stay mad. Especially when his concerns were fully valid. Jack _was_ bad for Rhys. After all, look at the damage he had caused in the span of one evening.

Rhys lifted his hand in a small wave. Vaughn weakly smiled back at him as the shuttle doors closed, and the car moved away.

A quick sprint brought Rhys toward the final elevator, and despite his second stroke of luck at finding it empty and ready to go, there was something that bothered him about his continued streak. Suddenly, it felt less like good fortune, and more like he was stepping onto the ferry that would bring him to his doom.

The office hummed with its usual activity at Rhys’ arrival. He quickly and quietly skirted his way down the centre aisle, making a beeline for his cubicle. Ducking inside, he slid his bag onto the desk and dropped heavily into his chair, faintly surprised that he had made it this far. Was he being a bit dramatic? After all, without a direct, scrutinizing glance, no one could have known that anything had changed.

That _everything_ had changed.

There was a very heady temptation to consider all the implications of the previous night’s events, but Rhys settled for a shaky exhale, before booting up his computer. But at the arrival of a figure on the edge of his periphery, all of his relief dissipated in an instant.

“Rhys.”

He stopped short upon turning toward Isaac, doing his best to keep his chin angled in an attempt to conceal the mark Jack had left behind. But it was awkward, and he knew immediately that he was less than subtle. Isaac, however, appeared startlingly calm as he scanned his face. His voice, on the other hand, wasn’t nearly as restrained as his expression.

“In my office. _Now_.”

Isaac disappeared before Rhys could respond or even consider. Panic and guilt surged together as he found himself wishing he had more time to prepare. Should he admit it right away, go in apologizing? Or should he defend himself?

Rhys snorted. What was there to defend? He barely had the loathsome “I was drunk!” argument. And Isaac’s shitty behaviour wasn’t much of an excuse, either.

Just as he processed the thought, a sharp tingle of pain in his flesh wrist caught his attention. He gazed down, carefully noting the hint of bruising that had flourished across the skin. And with that, his hackles were up.

He kicked his chair back with a growl, striding out from his cubicle. Isaac had waited for him, as if confirming that he had obeyed, but did allow him to catch up before he returned to his office. It left him to finish the walk of shame alone, which only added fuel to his anger. Rhys straightened, making sure to keep his head high as he followed after his boss.

Once he moved into the office, he gazed through the glass walls to realize a few of his coworkers had turned their attention in his direction. He scowled at them, as Isaac closed the door behind him — _what good will that do if they can still_ see _you yelling at me?_ — but then Isaac was bending at his desk to activate something below. The glass flickered and fogged, blocking out the rest of the world, and very suddenly it was just them. Rhys frowned at the press of the door to his shoulders, surprised to find he had instinctively backed himself against it.

Isaac eased into his chair to turn his accusing glare onto Rhys. For a time, nothing was said. Rhys maintained his cool facade, keeping his expression schooled even though the hickey on his chin would be fully visible now.

“You know, I was actually going to apologize to you today…” Isaac’s voice was unsettlingly calm. “I let some petty emotions get the better of me last night, and the alcohol was no excuse.”

Rhys said nothing, waiting patiently for the other shoe to drop. He didn’t have to wait long, as Isaac tilted his head in a show of scanning Rhys’ neck.

“…but I guess I was right after all, wasn’t I?”

Exhaling sharply, Rhys took a moment to settle himself, to prepare.

“I wasn’t lying, Isaac,” he insisted. “I really _didn’t_ have a history with Handsome Jack. At least —not the kind you think.”

Isaac’s glower was tight with disbelief. He found his way back onto his feet and around the desk; Rhys did his best not to flinch at his approach.

“I just have to ask,” Isaac sighed, coming to stop just short of Rhys. “What do you see in that psychopath?”

Rhys bristled. “He’s not—”

“What does he give you that I can’t?”

Rhys froze at the touch of Isaac’s hand. His eyebrows quirked upward at the tenderness of his gesture, and his attention fell to where he stroked gently across his knuckles. Isaac’s expression softened markedly, leaving him looking almost wounded.

Well, shit. That wasn’t what he was expecting.

“I thought we had something, you know?” Isaac stared at their hands as he put the words together. “I thought you were what I needed. One of the only people on this station that wasn’t simply looking out for themselves.”

There was a soft _thud_ on the door as Rhys’ head sank against it. He closed his eyes, surprised by the impact of Isaac’s words. It went beyond Rhys’ betrayal, and to the simple fact that he, too, had thought the exact same thing of Isaac. And then he went and ruined it in a single night.

“I’m so sorry, Isaac,” he whimpered. “I don’t know what happened.”

Isaac did not respond, only thumbed absently at Rhys’ wrist.

“Jack and I never had a _thing_. I swear.” He hung his head. “But to be fair…I think I was only fooling myself when I said he didn’t mean anything to me.”

He winced when Isaac lifted his head to meet his gaze, but the other man remained silent, as if waiting for him to elaborate.

“Back before I met Jack, I worshipped him like any good Hyperion employee. I wanted to _be_ him, you know?” Rhys cringed. “Then I met him, and I realized he wasn’t what he had been hyped up to be. He was human. He was _dark_. He was flawed…just like me.”

“Rhys…”

“But in my own fucked up way, I still wanted to impress him. Because apparently, I’m a fucking idiot. And last night, after Vaughn told me you had _both_ seen Jack, that you both knew he had come to see me, and you said _nothing_ , I felt…”

Betrayed. Deceived. Lost.

Rhys lifted his head to stare at Isaac. “I realized that all the progress I had made in the last few months was bullshit. I’m still that same idiot I was back on Pandora.”

Isaac hummed a response. His gaze had dropped to Rhys’ neck, tracing the bold, predatory marks. Rhys had difficulty reading his body language, something that left him particularly agitated. When he at last broke the silence, his voice was tight with anger.

“…did you fuck Jack last night, Rhys?”

The grip on his hand tightened; Rhys rippled with immediate hostility.

“ _No.”_

Isaac’s expression flashed with dark skepticism. His eyes burned a hole into the marks on Rhys' neck.

“We didn’t do anything beyond, uh…” He touched his prosthetic to his neck. “…but if he had asked, we probably would have.”

Isaac exhaled sharply, in something that seemed more like annoyance than rage.

“…are you sorry?”

Yet again, he was taken by surprise. He rocked back at the whiplash their conversation was causing, especially as Isaac’s touch softened and stroked its wait up his arm, coming to linger on the nape of his neck. He played with Rhys’ hair almost affectionately, sending a fresh shiver through Rhys’ frame.

“…yes, Isaac,” Rhys hesitantly conceded. “I have nothing to give you but that. I’m _sorry—_ ”

He was interrupted by Isaac snagging his head sharply backward. Rhys cried out, eyes wide as he considered how to defend himself, but his mind clicked out of place at the insistent press of lips on his neck.

“Don’t tell me how sorry you are,” Isaac mouthed into his flesh. “ _Show_ me.”

Rhys gasped for air, drawing his hands up to cradle Isaac’s arms where they pressed him back against the door. His leg instinctively tugged aside, allowing Isaac to slot himself perfectly against his hips. And as Isaac leaned in to paint his neck with his own series of bruises, on the side opposite Jack’s, he couldn’t help shivering under the touch. It was tempting to revel in the feeling, although he wasn’t certain if it was because of Isaac’s heated advances, or the way it reminded him of—

Isaac latched onto his shoulder and wrenched him away from the door. Rhys had little time to catch himself from stumbling forward, folding in half when he hit the desk. The contents of the surface rattled at the impact; Rhys snapped his head around in alarm as Isaac pressed into him from behind.

“I can’t blame you, babe.” His voice was terrifyingly heavy with restraint. The fingers clawing at Rhys’ sides were predatory, and when he tried to right himself, a hand pressed between his shoulders to force his chest flat. He felt a ripple of fear as Isaac’s foot nudged against his, dragging his stance wide, and he was desperately grabbing onto the desk while his mind raced.

“He _is_ Handsome Jack, after all. And no one says ‘no’ to Handsome Jack, right?”

Rhys arched his back, mouth open in protest, but he was quickly shoved back into place. His forehead connected with the desk; he cursed against the sudden lance of pain.

“ _Stay the fuck still._ ”

There was the telltale _clink_ of Isaac’s belt buckle, followed by a _thud_ when it hit the floor.

“Handsome Jack,” he continued casually, removing his suit jacket to toss it onto the chair across from them. “Mister Hyperion himself. Overlord to all the little people of Helios. Can just walk in and take whatever he wants. _Whomever_ he wants.”

Rhys took a very shaky glance over his shoulder, and Isaac gripped his chin, craning his head into a sharply awkward angle.

“He thinks he can take even _you_ ,” Isaac’s voice hissed into his ear. “When it’s obvious that you belong to _me_.”

Something fresh and infuriating shot through Rhys like a bullet; his lips curled into a snarl. He was damned if he was going to let Isaac _mark_ him as if he were his damn property.

“I don’t belong to you,” he seethed. “Get the fuck off of me!”

“What’s the matter, _Rhysie?”_ Isaac taunted, pressing his hips to Rhys’ ass; he tensed at the telling caress of Isaac’s erection. “I thought you enjoyed this? I thought you _loved_ being dominated.”

“I wanted _you_ , Isaac. Not this.”

“This _is_ me, Rhys—”

“I’m starting to see that.”

“—this is me after my partner went and fucked around behind my back, right after lying to my face that _it was nothing_.”

“I didn’t _fuck_ him!” Rhys cried out as Isaac snapped his hips yet again.

He arched his back in a vain attempt to find purchase, but Isaac pressed his weight onto him to flatten him against the desk. A scalding breath washed over his ear.

“Tell me, _Rhysie_. Have you always been such a little _whore_?”

Isaac’s head snapped backward as Rhys’ cybernetic elbow connected with his nose in a sickening _crunch_. He reeled, tripped, and fell into a chair, and Rhys was on his feet. He threw himself into the office door, slamming it open to send a spidering crack through the window behind it. Heads spun toward him as he strode out of the office; he moved with intent toward the elevators at the far end of the room.

“ _Strongfork!_ ”

Clenching his fists, Rhys stopped dead in the aisle. He glanced over his shoulder with an icy glare. Isaac lingered in the doorway of his office, clutching at his face, and Rhys felt a vicious pulse of satisfaction at the sight of the blood soaked down his chest.

“If you walk away from me, you’re _fired_ ,” the other man snarled.

His breath snagged. A stream of curses flooded his mind, but his voice floundered, as he struggled to align all of the implications of Isaac’s threat. His job, his home, his _life—_

“Oh, is that so?”

Rhys’ body rocked with the wholly involuntary and _wonderful_ shudder that hit him at the sound of Handsome Jack’s voice. He turned his head to find Jack striding toward him, looking calm but tense, as if suppressing something dark. Rhys initially felt surprised at his presence, but his eyes quickly flickered to the overhead camera pointed his way, and another peculiar shiver of delight rippled through his frame.

Before Jack reached his side, Rhys hazarded a look toward Isaac, who was none too pleased at his arrival. All of the control he’d had over Rhys had dissolved in an instant, now that Jack — Mister Hyperion himself — was on the scene.

Rhys very nearly moaned at the thought; his toes curled as Jack reached him only to press a protective hand against the small of his back.

“You good, kitten?”

“Fine. Thanks,” he purred quietly. He leaned into Jack’s hand, happily noting the way his eyebrows deftly quirked in response.

“Handsome Jack,” Isaac uttered, hesitant as he scanned the many eyes watching them. “Mister Strongfork and I were just in the middle of something...”

“And whatever it was, it seems to me that it has reached its natural conclusion. Now Rhysie and I have a meeting to discuss his latest project.” Jack turned his heavy gaze back on Isaac. “Unless you would care to join us in the gun range?”

Isaac’s eyes widened. He took a shaky step back toward his office, swallowing hard. Rhys did his very best not to smirk. And even though this was Jack’s moment, not his, he felt incredibly pleased with the results.

“I, uh…no.”

“Very well. Shall we, pumpkin?”

“After you, sir.”

Jack gently pressed against his back to guide him, and Rhys found himself wondering if the range booths could support the weight of two grown men. As they passed by Isaac, who had yet to move and trailed them with a tight stare, Jack gave a derisive snort.

“Go clean yourself up, Andrews. You look like skag shit.”

Well, shit. The sounds of Isaac’s angry mumbles were _lovely_.

Rhys almost floated to the back of the room, watching in a daze as Jack thumbed his access and led him to the gun range. The doors sealed shut behind them, and Rhys gave a cursory glance to the empty theatre overhead, when Jack was suddenly _there_. His thick, warm hands were on Rhys’ face, tipping his head back and forth in scrutiny.

“Did he do anything to you?” Jack growled, eye lingering briefly on the fresh bruises before continuing their scan. “Did he hurt you? Because I swear, I will airlock that piece of—”

“No, Jack,” Rhys croaked, catching Jack’s roving hands. “I’m okay. Really. In fact, Isaac got the worst of it.”

A smirk peeled across Jack’s face. “That was a fine piece of work, Rhysie. You hit him?”

“Just a well aimed elbow,” Rhys blushed.

Jack chuckled softly, nodding his approval. Silence fell over them as his face was held in Jack’s broad hands; it took every ounce of his strength to hold back a very lovely quiver. Jack’s eyes fell, seeming to hang on Rhys’ lips. Then he moved away, and Rhys nearly whined at the loss, stumbling at the sudden dizziness.

“You know,” Jack grumbled, having moved to Rhys’ makeshift desk. “I _should_ just airlock him. Out of principle.”

“ _What_ principle, Jack?”

“Don’t touch Handsome Jack’s things.” Rhys’ heart palpated. Jack tapped impatiently at the desk. “Now get over here and show me this turret. I have notes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Halfway done part 1!**


	8. Handsome Jack

“I could get used to this view…”

Elpis was simply incredible to behold. Pandora’s only satellite almost glowed under his watch; its atmosphere drifted with a lavender hue, but for the gnarled, angry red scar stretched across the surface that had resulted from Dahl’s mining operations years before. Rhys stood alone at the tall windows composing the back wall of the office, tentatively resting his cybernetic hand against the glass as he peered out into the darkness beyond. He had quickly fixated on the moon below, tracing its marred landscape with heavy interest.

“It’s amazing…”

“ _ That’s _ what’s got you impressed?” Jack’s voice came from somewhere behind him. “Did you see the rest of my office, kiddo?”

Rhys snickered. “You mean those massive homages to your ego? Kind of hard to miss.”

This was not his first visit to Jack’s office. But back then, between hunting a Gortys piece and listening to Jack’s very tempting offer, he hadn’t been able to truly appreciate his surroundings. He could not, however, ignore the giant busts of Jack’s head.

“Just giving the people what they want, cupcake. And what the people want are twenty-foot tall statues of  _ this guy. _ ”

With a slight turn, Rhys hazarded a look in Jack’s direction. He was heavily relaxed into his throne-like office chair, an ankle hooked over one knee as he lazily tapped at a tablet in his lap. Rhys’ eyes lingered there — for too long — in quiet awe of finally seeing the man casually lost in his work. Even at rest, his frame was charged, exuding a peculiar confidence in every gesture that left Rhys both reverent and salivating. After a few seconds of staring, his eyes drew upward, only to realize that Jack was looking  _ back _ , and a mischievous grin had curled into his mask.

“See what I mean, kitten?”

Rhys snorted. He abruptly turned back to face the window, a hasty attempt to hide his blush, only to tense at the sound of the tablet being placed onto the desk. As Jack’s footsteps drew near, Rhys did his best to calm his fluttering heart.

Three days had passed since the incident in Isaac’s office. Afterward, things had been surprisingly quiet. He’d returned to the office on Monday, where Isaac was noticeably absent, and resumed his work on the turret without much trouble. Even his coworkers seemed to leave him alone, but for the quiet whispering in the break room. Rhys hadn’t even heard from Jack, which he quietly suffered over until he received an ECHO from an unknown source, ordering him to come up to his office. He almost ran to the nearest elevator, feeling equal amounts giddy and nervous.

So as Jack arrived behind him, hovering just close enough for Rhys to feel the warmth of his body, he couldn’t help swallowing hard in anticipation.

“Got something on your mind, Rhysie?” he murmured, lips not terribly far from Rhys’ ear.

“Hmm,” Rhys angled his head, just enough to glance Jack in his periphery and teasingly expose the tattooed flesh of his neck at the same time. “I suppose I was wondering why you called me to your office…”

“Oh, it’s  _ strictly _ business,” Jack’s voice deepened. A pair of arms looped around Rhys’ hips. Jack’s thumbs dug into his belt line, giving a gentle tug. “I may have had something planned for you.”

“O-oh?” Rhys stuttered. He lifted his hands to brace against Jack’s forearms, and his grip slipped along to cradle the distinct shape of the black tattoo on his wrist. “And, uh — what was  _ that _ , exactly?”

Rhys did his best not to melt as Jack grinned into his neck. The fingers at his waistline slowly pulled at his shirt, guiding it free from where he’d tucked it into his slacks. “I think it’s time you were rewarded for your part in getting me home, pumpkin.”

Rhys straightened. His lips parted before he twisted in Jack’s arms to meet his eyes. “Wait, really?”

“Really,” Jack nodded dully. “So, Rhysie… if you could have  _ anything _ …what would you want me to give you?”

The resulting rush of blood to his face (and groin) had Rhys leaned back against the window. Jack chuckled.

“I suspected as much…”

A broad hand came up and stroked softly against his cheek, flattening out to palm his jawline. Rhys was drawn forward, head angled for Jack to press his lips against his tattoo. Rhys shivered in response, canting his hips as he dared to loop a leg around Jack and tug him close.

“Oh, cupcake,” Jack exhaled a scalding breath against his neck, thumbing at the buttons of his shirt. He dragged the collar open, only to fall deadly still. “What are you hiding under here?”

Rhys tipped his head back as a thumb swiped over his collarbone. Jack growled his appreciation into the blue tattoo, leaning in to lave his tongue across the top ridges of the ink. Rhys took the opportunity to thread his fingers into the perfect curls of Jack’s hair, as if grabbing on for dear life. He tilted his head to hover his mouth next to Jack’s ear, dropping his voice to a breathy whisper.

“I guess you’ll just have to find out…”

The strangled sound that this elicited from Jack sent a shock sensation through Rhys. The older man’s shoulders rippled; Rhys gasped as hands gripped his ass. He was suddenly held aloft, and Jack turned, abruptly carrying him across the room. Moments later he was dropped unceremoniously onto the desk.

“Hey!” he winced.

“Quiet now, kitten,” Jack uttered, ducking forward to march his lips in a line down Rhys’ chest. He wriggled at the touch, reaching forward to encourage Jack’s jacket away from his broad shoulders. He dropped his fingers to his vest, where he fumbled at the clasps.

“Shit,” Rhys mumbled as he struggled in between Jack sucking dark bruises into his collarbone. “Why do you wear so much clothing?”

Jack merely grunted, hands busily groping around his hips. Rhys glanced down in surprise to see Jack had expertly stripped him of his belt and was placing it, coiled, onto the desk.

“At least  _ one _ of us has to be fashionable, kiddo.”

“You call this sweater fashionable?” Rhys smirked, freeing the last clasp. “What even is… _ oh my god _ .”

Rhys held Jack’s vest and shirt apart to gawk at the large ‘HYPERION’ across his chest. His body rocked as he suppressed a laugh; Jack quirked an eyebrow. “How  _ old _ is this thing?”

“It has sentimental value,” Jack grumbled, placing a hand over Rhys’ smirk. “Now shut up. You’re killing the mood.”

Rhys’ toes curled at the feel of Jack’s hand smoothing up his thigh. He gave a quick tug at his slacks, pulling him sharply across the surface; Rhys’ legs automatically parted to make way for his hips. Jack’s efficient fingers returned to his shirt, and before Rhys knew it, the cold air of the room was embracing his bare skin. Then Jack was easing back to scan his frame.

For the barest moment, Rhys was gripped with uncertainty, feeling self conscious under Jack’s scrutiny. His embarrassed gaze flickered between those deep, green and blue eyes; he warily sank back onto his palms. Jack reached forward, stroking along where his tattoo followed his pec.

“Kiddo,” he whispered. “You…”

Suddenly, Jack was pressing forward into his space. His hand splayed across his chest, giving a hard shove _. _ Rhys fell back onto his elbows, eyes wide in alarm and  _ something else _ . But before he could respond, Jack was already dragging him back to the edge of the desk, and Rhys cried out in —  _ goodgoodohgood _ — delight when Jack’s pelvis pressed hard into him. His erection was firm against his ass, and Rhys tipped his head back in a moan, wriggling uncomfortably against the matched tightness in his own slacks.

“Jack…” he nearly sobbed, hands scrabbling across the desk for any kind of purchase. Jack chuckled in response, before giving another quick thrust against his backside.

“Look at you, kitten,” Jack purred. “You look  _ great _ on my desk. You belong on your back.”

Not to be outdone, Rhys shot him a half-lidded, debauched look. “Maybe  _ you _ belong between my knees. Ever think of it that way?”

Jack seemed caught between a laugh and a growl; he dug against Rhys, rucking up his slacks. “Fuck, you little—”

“Ah, ah,” Rhys chided, and Jack paused. “ _ Language _ , kitten.”

Jack blinked slowly at him, frozen in place, before widely grinning.

“So  _ that’s _ the way you want this to go, eh?”

It probably shouldn’t have felt so good when Jack’s hand closed around his throat. Rhys whimpered, closing his eyes as he writhed in place. His cock jumped within the confines of his pants and he twisted delightfully as he rubbed against him. Jack leaned back ever slightly, working at his own belt with renewed fervour, when a sudden chime came from the desk behind Rhys’ head. Jack grunted his annoyance, releasing his neck to reach beyond and stab a finger into the console.

“ _ What? _ ”

“Sir, there’s an emergency in the docking bay.”

“So get—” Jack bit back a groan, angling his head to tongue at Rhys’ ear. Rhys went boneless at the sensation. “—get security on it!”

“Don’t talk into my ear,” he winced, shifting away. Jack tightened his grip on Rhys’ waist, smiling into his cheek.

“Sir, it’s regarding the recent events on Pandora. I—”

“ _ Shit _ .”

Rhys felt Jack’s presence disappear from where he had been hovering over him, and. He sat up, mouth open in question, only to watch Jack pluck his jacket off the ground and shoulder his way into it before doing up his vest. Rhys sighed as the last clasp clicked into place. All that effort, wasted.

Jack moved around his desk, reaching inside to withdraw a pistol before slamming the drawer shut. Rhys, annoyed at the loss of Jack’s prying hands, followed him with his withering stare as he headed toward the exit.

“Jack?”

“Sorry, kitten. This is important,” Jack paused briefly, glancing back at him with a wink. “Don’t you go anywhere.”

Rhys’ cock angrily twitched in his pants as the doors shut behind Jack; he scowled at the closed portal. After a minute, he edged his way off the desk, begrudgingly buttoning up his shirt as he gazed about at a loss.

He turned to retrieve his belt, only to hesitate upon noticing a small picture frame at the far corner, placed downward on its face. Rhys dithered a moment, sparing a glance toward the doors in caution, then moved toward it and carefully turned it over. His fingers danced across the broken glass, and he felt something odd strike his chest when he was met with the image of a little girl. Her black hair and adorable, toothy grin were somehow heartbreaking behind the shattered frame.

Could it be? Jack had a daughter? He had heard rumours of Jack’s former wife — or wives, as it was told — but he never put much stock in the gossip flooding Helios’ halls. However, as Rhys stared at the image of the girl, he couldn’t help but wonder.

_ Not my place _ . Rhys gently set the frame back down, suddenly regretting his intrusion. He stepped away from the desk, quietly fleeing across the dais. He paused in descent to eye a rather tempting set of couches in a nearby alcove, settling on the long, all black leather surface that seemed to call his name. He immediately crossed over to sink into place.

He winced, rocketing straight as the painful jolt it sent through his spine.

“Really, Jack?” he hissed, rubbing his lower back. It made sense, really — that Jack would afford his guests no comfort while he lounged in his throne. A power play, even through the damn  _ sofas _ .

Rhys did his best to make the most of it, mumbling as he leaned into the leather and turned his palm upward to ping Vaughn’s ECHO and return the call he’d missed earlier that day. A small image of his bro flickered to life in the space over his hand.

“Hey, Rhys! I was wondering where you were.”

“Sorry, Vaughn. Got caught up. What’s up?”

“I’m headed to lunch. Why don’t you meet me?”

Rhys eased back against the couch, gaze flickering toward the door. “Uh…I don’t think I can make it.”

“What?” Vaughn squinted at him. “Where are you, Rhys?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he slipped sideways and onto his back, bracing a hand under his head for the barest comfort.

“…Rhys…”

“Jack’s office,” he admitted finally, offering a shrug.

“What!?”

“W-we were discussing the turret,” he lied. “S’not like I can run it by my boss anymore...”

“How is Isaac even still  _ alive _ ?” Vaughn shook his head. “Jack’s vented people for way less, right?”

“Yeah, I dunno, I…”

“Sorry, Rhys. I wish I’d seen it sooner. That guy was a  _ dick _ .”

Rhys closed his eyes. He hadn’t really considered it since he’d filled Vaughn in after the incident. It was still hard to think about, despite the minor thrills he got from the memory of Jack striding toward him with intent. He was pleased to finally —  _ finally _ be at Jack’s side, but it made his stomach churn to think about Isaac too much. He did actually care for him, after all. At one time.

At Rhys’ silence, Vaughn awkwardly coughed.

“So, uh — you can’t come then?”

“Sorry. Jack asked me to wait here,” he hummed. “Oh, and uh, maybe avoid going anywhere near the docking bay? Apparently something’s going down.”

“Okay, bro. Not gonna ask. About  _ anything _ .”

Rhys narrowed his eyes, then set his head back down. “Have a good time, Vaughn.”

“Stay safe, Rhys.”

He grumbled at the end of the call, dropping his hand in defeat. Well, it wasn’t the  _ worst _ exchange he’d had with Vaughn of late. And surprising, what with the turn of events that brought Rhys to Handsome Jack’s office.

Rhys rested his arm over his face, exhaling his anxiety as he did his best to relax back against the stiff couch. At least he had a moment alone to catch his breath. With the whirlwind events of the last few days, he had little luck at finding any sleep, and as he listened to the soft trickle of the water feature in Jack’s office, and the general hum of ambient, mechanical sounds, it was more than tempting to just curl up right there and…

* * *

“Are we comfy, Rhysie?”

Rhys bolted upright. His eyes snapped wide in alarm as he remembered himself, remembered where he was. He groaned, palming his face before dropping his feet to the floor. How’d he fall asleep? Especially on that rock hard surface.

He lifted his head, in sudden realization that the voice that had woken him had been real, and not a dream. Jack stood not far away, leaned against the wall as he quietly stared at Rhys. Despite the weak smile on his face, he looked almost run down, propped up against one arm. He still gripped his pistol, and there were fresh, dark red stains on his jeans that almost seemed to be claw marks. Rhys scanned him in urgency, heart thudding against his chest.

“Jack,” he sputtered. “What happened? Are you—”

He was on his feet in an instant. Jack dropped his arm off the wall in anticipation, holstering the gun to move his hands to Rhys’ hips in a smooth motion. As he pulled Rhys against him, he turned his face into the crook of his neck to vent a sigh. Rhys almost froze, surprised to yet again find himself in Handsome Jack’s strange embrace.

“Is...everything okay?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle, cupcake,” he grumbled. “Just cleanin’ up after bandits as usual.”

Rhys swallowed his questions as Jack pressed into him. He wound his arms around his shoulders, allowing the broader man to lean in to nuzzle at his neck. Rhys felt the wall against his back and he settled there, as something bloomed in his chest while Jack gripped his frame.

For a few minutes, they remained that way, and no words were exchanged. He cradled Jack close, stroking at his hair, and dared to close his eyes. Rhys allowed himself, for just a moment, to revel in a feeling of bliss. This was beyond what he’d ever expected, or even hoped, of this relationship. _ Or — whatever this was _ . He eased into the embrace, turning his face against Jack’s temple, and whimpered softly.

Jack tensed. He drew back, staring at Rhys as if seeing him for the first time. Rhys almost blanched at the look, mouth parted in wonder at the way the older man scanned him. Something flashed across Jack’s face for a second, then his eyes narrowed, and Rhys’ heart fluttered in alarm.

“Jack, what—”

Rhys cried out as Jack shoved him against the wall, stiff with shock until the press of lips appeared on his collarbone. With a sharp inhale he angled his head, and Jack responded in kind, moving closer,  _ pushing _ closer. Every possible line of Jack’s body was against his, and despite the scent of copper and sweat on his skin, Rhys found himself only wanting  _ more _ .

He betrayed himself with a louder moan, and Jack abruptly moved away from him. Rhys whined at the loss, eyes half lidded, when he felt firm pressure on his shoulders. He gasped, blinking at Jack in consternation as he forced him down onto his knees.

Jack ignored him, snapping open his own belt. He quickly busied himself with unzipping his jeans, pushing aside his ridiculous layers of clothing. And when his cock bobbed into view, Rhys was lost somewhere between  _ of course he goes commando _ and  _ wait, what?  _ But he couldn’t do much else before Jack’s hand was twisting into his hair and pinning him back against the wall.

Rhys looked up at Jack in question, but there was no confusion regarding his expectations — it was just that Rhys had simply hoped for something  _ more _ . But Jack didn’t seem to notice, and was too busy staring with intent at Rhys’ lips as he held him to the wall, other hand working into a quick rhythm.

Feeling suddenly  _ stupid _ , Rhys flushed and dropped his head as Jack moved closer. Jack was  _ thick _ , and the sight of that pulsing, heavy cock made Rhys’ jaw ache. He grasped desperately for old memories of a naive Rhys alone in his bedroom and jerking it to Handsome Jack’s poster, but flinched at a brush against his lips, which warranted a both  _ delicious _ and  _ terrifying _ sound from Jack.

“Open your mouth,” he ordered. Rhys shuddered at the darkened tone. He almost pulled away in denial, but as he was already flattened against the wall, there was little more he could do than awkwardly hold himself up on his haunches. All the fantasies he’d once had about Jack — about his body and his cock and  _ taking _ his cock — were forgotten as his stomach churned with a sick feeling of  _ wrong, wrong, wrong _ . And all the passion and lust that had coursed through him earlier was gone, leaving him swallowing thickly as his eyes lingered on the bead of precum hanging in his face.

“ _ Rhys. _ ”

He ultimately obeyed, tentatively licking the head of Jack’s length, which earned him another wanton moan from the man standing over his crouched frame. Rhys closed his eyes, doing what he could to shake off his initial shock and recall any memory of his skills at fellatio. But as Jack began to eagerly press into his throat, Rhys quickly realized that he wasn’t even looking for that. And when Jack had buried himself to the hilt — too much too soon — Rhys’ priorities changed to efforts of self preservation, as he did his best to time his breathing and simply  _ stay conscious _ .

As Jack took what he wanted, Rhys kept his eyes firmly shut and submitted. At some point, Jack withdrew, leaving Rhys to sputter and scrabble at the ground as his head swam and his lungs ached for air. Jack had moved to the couch, snapping his fingers before pointing sharply at it while ever palming his saliva-slicked length.

“ _ Heel. _ "

And Rhys followed, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. He half stumbled, half crawled to the couch, all the while trying to catch his breath. Jack awaited him impatiently, still stroking himself, and when Rhys arrived at his side, he again gestured to the couch.

“On your back,” he barked, and as Rhys made to sit at the edge, he again snapped his fingers. “No. Turn around.”

Rhys felt a ripple of unease, but did not ask questions. He lowered himself onto the couch, and once he leaned back against the uncomfortable leather, he gazed upward at Jack behind him, finally realizing the other man planned to do. He audibly whimpered, then closed his eyes, angled his head back, and opened his mouth.

“Atta’ boy,” Jack chuckled darkly. He leaned forward to guide himself back down into Rhys’ throat. The angle was  _ painfully deep _ , and Rhys found himself gripping the couch so tightly he worried his cybernetic hand would tear straight through the leather. 

Because  _ that _ was the most pressing concern just then...

What struck Rhys the hardest was not the surprise or the frustration at being  _ used. _ It was the absolute wash of shame when Rhys quivered despite himself, feeling the tightness of his slacks as his own cock stirred in response. And as Jack’s hand absently stroked its way across his chest, deftly passing over a nipple, his body jerked about. He didn’t  _ want _ to enjoy this, but it appeared he had little say in the matter. His hips canted in invitation, and Rhys quietly hated himself.

Thankfully, the raw assault was soon over. Jack’s movements had become jerky, unrestrained as he chased something fierce and immediate. When he finally came, Rhys choked, suddenly and impossibly full. He forced a painful swallow, at the same time careful not to bite down. A fresh set of tears streaked down his cheek at the effort; his nostrils flared beneath Jack. His chest hurt at the effort as he fought for breath, and he felt Jack doing the same from above.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, with Jack leaning over Rhys’ prone frame, clutching the back of the couch for support. Rhys had closed his eyes, ignoring the sharp ache in his jaw, focusing only on  _ breathing _ . He felt a rush of relief when Jack finally moved, withdrawing from his face. Rhys pivoted, rolling spluttering onto the floor once freed. He had barely enough strength to hold onto the couch as he coughed bile and ejaculate onto the floor beside the hand supporting his exhausted frame.

Rhys very slowly eased himself up as his mind swam with thought. He was lost somewhere between lust and frustration and  _ anger _ , drifting in a chaotic torrent of emotion and confusion. And it didn’t amount to much, as he stared unseeing at his hand below him. He didn’t even notice when Jack moved around him, but he flinched when he patted his head —  _ good boy _ — before continuing on to drop lazily onto the couch.

Of all the conflicting moments roiling within him, Rhys’ rage took the lead. He shrank away as Jack’s hand danced gently across his shoulders, desperate for whatever space he could put between them.

And to think that Rhys had been  _ excited _ for this. He moaned at the time lost, spent wondering how big Handsome Jack’s bed was, how soft his sheets were. Wondering what it would be like to wake up next to him, to see  _ post-climax _ Jack’s dazed expression. But what he got instead was exactly what he should have expected in the first place. And there he was, crouched like a fool on the floor with a dull ache in his jaw and ejaculate dripping down his chin.

After all — this was Handsome Friggin’ Jack. What the fuck did he expect?

Overcome with irritation, Rhys sharply glanced back at him. Jack had tucked himself away, and was somehow comfortably leaning back against the couch. He looked utterly pleased with himself, head tilted back and eyes shut. This only seemed to fuel Rhys’ burning anger, despite his efforts at rationale.

“Can I ask you something?” Rhys growled, hand still gripping his jaw. Jack hummed a noncommittal response, lacing his fingers behind his head, and Rhys narrowed his eyes. “…did you have a good reason for destroying my relationship with Isaac, other than to just fuck me in the face?”

Jack’s eyes snapped open and he turned to examine Rhys with a blank expression. Rhys ignored him, the volume of hostility drowning out the alarm bells in the back of his mind. He pushed himself off the ground and shakily found his feet; his balance wavered as his head swam, but he was already eyeing his path to the exit. The moment he moved, however, he felt Jack painfully snag his wrist. He tripped sideways, cybernetic hand shooting out to grip the couch before he almost collapsed straight down onto Jack.

Rhys’ blood froze as he came face-to-face with Jack, who was  _ glaring _ up at him. Very suddenly, he realized what he had said, and to whom he had said it. A real flutter of fear rippled in his stomach as Jack’s fingers trailed up his arm, taking a tight hold to tug him forward. Rhys cried out, involuntarily dropping down and into Jack’s lap. He straddled him in shock, afraid to move as Jack’s eyes roved over his face before he brought his hand up to tightly grasp his chin.

“And what other reason would I  _ need _ ?” Jack hissed.

“What?” Rhys stuttered.

“To take you from him,” Jack continued, voice laced with a dark threat. “Did I need a reason to take you other than to fuck you at whim?”

Rhys’ eyes edged wider upon realization. He had only been half convinced that Jack had  _ intentionally _ come between him and Isaac, only barked the accusation in a heavy moment of shame. But with Jack’s admission, any trace of denial was blown away.

At Rhys’ lack of response, Jack rolled his eyes in annoyance and hitched his hips, grinding  _ deliciously _ upward against Rhys’ groin. Rhys fell off balance, whimpering in confused surprise, but was held in place by the hand still gripping his chin.

“I… _ Jack _ …”

“ _ What other reason?” _

“I don’t—” Rhys muttered, feeling his cock stir yet again.

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” Jack snarled, snaring his free hand in Rhys’ hair. He pulled him closer, so that his breath was hot on Rhys’ face. “Did you think I  _ liked _ you? Wanted to  _ woo _ you, like some common schmuck?”

Rhys tried to formulate an answer, but Jack was rolling his hips again and  _ oh god _ . His hands gripped the couch behind Jack’s head, as he fought desperately against the erection growing in his pants. He found himself flustered, disoriented by Jack’s biting words and his contradictory actions.

“Did you want big, bad Handsome Jack to  _ pursue _ you? Like you were something special? Like you weren’t just some faceless nobody like the rest of Helios?” Jack grunted, his free hand descending to Rhys’ hip to press  _ down _ . Rhys cried out, at a loss for any feasible response. “Like you were singularly deserving of my carnal desires? Like I  _ needed _ to bring you up here and have those pretty legs of yours over my shoulders?”

“N-no, Jack, I—”

Jack interrupted Rhys by turning and dumping him onto the couch. The air rushed out of Rhys’ lungs as he fell onto his back, and he winced in surprise. He felt Jack’s hands on his thighs as he was dragged across the surface, before the warmth of Jack’s body pressed against his ass. Jack moved his fresh erection against Rhys and he moaned, hands barely able to find purchase on the couch below.

“I don’t  _ need _ you, kiddo,” Jack seethed, unzipping his jeans once again. “I told you already. It’s not about  _ need _ .”

Rhys was nearly bent in half as Jack tore his slacks off of him, discarding the clothing in a heap on the floor. He stared wildly up at him, desperately trying to find his breath and his mind. He froze as his eyes fell on Jack’s hand only to find the man pulling two fingers out from his mouth with a slick  _ pop. _

“Not need. No. I  _ want _ to wreck you.”

Jack’s fingers were suddenly inside him. Rhys threw his head back, nearly biting through his lip to stifle the scream. The fingers were thick and unyielding and  _ so fucking hot _ . Rhys arched, slotting his legs over Jack’s shoulders and tightening onto his prying digits.

“Fuuuuuck, Jack,” he whined, eyes screwed shut. His body jerked and leapt as Jack forced a quick rhythm, alternating between stretching and rutting. He added a third and Rhys’ eyes rolled back into his skull. 

Rhys already thought he was going to lose his mind, rocking sharply on Jack’s fingers, when he felt a slick grip on his cock. He glanced down to see Jack working him into a firm motion, and his hips wriggled in intense delight. It was painful and punishing and everything he’d been waiting for.

Well,  _ almost _ everything.

“Now, listen closely, Rhysie,” Jack hummed, all the while thrusting his fingers into Rhys. “Because I’m only going to say this once.”

He paused, and Rhys lifted his head, eyes wide as the other man lined himself up and pressed the bare head of his cock against him. Rhys keened at the sensation, spreading his legs wider in anticipation. Jack met his gaze, expression serious and dark as the two stared at one another.

“You belong to  _ me _ now.”

Jack pressed inside of him and Rhys’ mind went blank. 

* * *

“Rhysie.”

The younger man stirred, groggily lifting his head. He seemed to blink in surprise, realizing where he was in a slow daze. Jack almost smirked, as Rhys gazed about the office and shivered at the cool air that washed over him. Then he was scooting back, curling into Jack’s body for warmth. Jack reached down around him, chuckling as he tugged him close.

“You still with me?” Jack cooed at his ear.

Rhys gave a half-hearted nod, sleepily humming his response. Jack stroked at his cheek, eyes scanning over his relaxed face — from his parted, tempting lips to the locks of hair that stubbornly hung over his forehead. Something pulsed in his chest as he hovered over the younger man, looping an arm possessively around his hips.

Jack hadn’t been certain what his intentions for Rhys had been, that moment when he’d laid eyes on him in the gun range. He’d only been unable to deny there  _ was _ intent — to claim what was rightfully his, and no one else’s. But it wasn’t until he backed Rhys into the wall by his elevator, and that sly minx had let out a lewd moan in response, that Jack’s more animalistic urges had taken over.

He’d controlled himself that night. Barely. But that wasn’t necessary anymore. Not now that he’d succeeded in crossing one more item off his list of losses. And as he folded himself around Rhys, allowing his fingers to map out the soft, pliant shape of his body, Jack had no intention of losing again.

Rhys whimpered, beginning to drift back to sleep, and Jack grinned. Good, sweet little Rhysie. Loyal.  _ Obedient _ .

“I’m going to move your office up here. Keep you nice and close,” he uttered, nose brushing Rhys’ ear. “And I’m going to  _ continue _ to fuck you at whim. Now. Do you have a problem with that?”

Rhys rapidly shook his head, and Jack again chuckled. “Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, what were you expecting?


	9. It Rhymes with ‘Jimothy’

“Intel is coming in now, sir.”

“About damn time.”

Blake shifted, gazing warily in Jack’s direction. “Our spy was unable to access the local Fast Travel machine as it was too exposed. But he managed to place the charges. If you’re ready, we’re primed to take it down.”

Jack stared heavily at the drone footage being broadcast in the space over his desk. His fingers dug in where they rested on his biceps as he surveyed the image of Sanctuary.

“And the key?”

“If it’s there, it’s in the main headquarters. But the Firehawk and sniper have been observed at the scene. We’ve also had reports of some of the Vault Hunters coming and going from the central building.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Are they still there?”

“The Vault Hunters? At this time, no.”

“Pity,” Jack snarled. “They deserve to go down with their piece-of-shit town.”

“Would you prefer to delay?”

“No,” Jack waved his hand. “I’m not risking exposure. We’re going ahead. Have our forces ready to scour the wreckage. I want that key _found_.”

“They are in holding pattern, sir.” Blake nodded, gesturing to the desk. "When you’re ready…”

The interface shifted beneath Jack’s hands. Something _fantastic_ flourished inside his chest as the console flipped over, presenting an oversized, red button with the label “BOOM” scrawled across the middle. He snorted, placing his palm over it.

“Maybe not as personal as you deserve, but it’ll still hurt,” Jack snickered. “Enjoy, Firebitch.”

He pressed the button. In the aerial footage, the almost serene image of the floating city was rocked with a series of _massive_ explosions. The air filled with rubble and dust, and Jack immediately leaned forward to thumb the volume control. The distant sound of screams and cries for help filled his ears, sending a shiver rippling through his shoulders.

“That’s the stuff…”

Victory. Sweet, delicious, wonderful _victory_. The vault key wasn’t in his hands — yet. But after everything Hyperion had suffered at the hands of those goddamn Vault Hunters, this was more than enough to satiate Jack’s needs. For now.

Jack watched the footage with avid enthusiasm. But idly, every so often, he would cast a glance toward the couch in the alcove of his office, humming in thought. After a few minutes of surveying the video, and the great bandit fortress of Sanctuary began to drift on an angle through the sky, Jack stood up. He turned, clapping a hand down on Blake’s shoulder.

“Good work, Jimmy.”

Blake winced, but offered a tight smile. “Thank you, sir.”

“Keep me updated. You ping me the second that key is found, got it?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Now go. You’ve got work to do.” Jack gestured sharply toward the front doors. Blake obeyed immediately, quickly making his way down the steps.

Jack dropped back into his throne, kicking his feet up onto the desk and lacing his fingers behind his head as his attention returned to the video feed. The city eventually began to plummet, casting massive columns of billowing smoke into the sky, and he laughed, all the while digging into a snack bag he had on hand for just the occasion.

“Well,” he grinned, with a last glance to the alcove. “I think this is cause for celebration…”

* * *

“You’re moving your stuff _where?_ ”

Vaughn was frozen in place, gripped with a cold, anxious shock as Rhys dropped a filing box onto the kitchen counter. His roommate sighed, brushing off his concerns as he ran fingers through his hair in a shrug. Rhys was noticeably avoiding eye contact, which did nothing to alleviate Vaughn’s mounting stress.

“Up near Jack’s office. Just down the hall. Has a hell of a view of Elpis.”

“And _why_ is he moving you up there?” Vaughn raised an eyebrow. “Are you getting a promotion?”

“Not exactly…he just… I guess he just wants me nearby.”

Vaughn sank against the couch, exasperated. “Rhys… this isn’t normal. This doesn’t _feel_ right.”

“Well, at least I’ll be away from Isaac,” Rhys chuckled, and Vaughn’s jaw dropped.

“Rhys—”

“What do you want me to say?” Rhys grumbled. “Jack isn’t exactly conventional.”

“Are you saying this is his way of _courting_ you?” Vaughn blanched, staring accusingly as Rhys moved around the island and into the kitchen. “You think this is Handsome Jack being _affectionate?”_

“No, I… I mean — I don’t know… maybe?” Rhys gave a shrug, before placing his hands onto the counter top. When he offered nothing else, Vaughn was very tempted to cross the room, grab him by the shoulders, and shake some sense into him.

“Rhys… I don’t think Jack even _has_ feelings. I just don’t want you getting ideas about—”

“I understand your concern, Vaughn.”

Rhys’ response was terse. His expression tightened; Vaughn could almost feel the ice suddenly emanating from his tense frame. There it was again — that hollow distance that had begun to form between them as of late. Vaughn gazed down at his feet, searching for the fine line he was walking.

“...but?”

The question lingered in the air between them. Rhys stared back contemplatively, but when he opened his mouth to speak, a shrill chirp interrupted him. He gazed down, turning up his cybernetic palm as the call leapt to life.

“Heya, kitten.”

Vaughn paled; his stomach turned over in a sick wash. He grabbed onto the couch to hold on for dear life, having not failed to notice the way Rhys’ expression lit up at the sound of the man’s voice.

“Hi, Jack.”

“You know that steak place on the executive floor?”

“I know of it, yes…?”

Vaughn knew it too; it was higher end, a place they’d never been and likely never would on their salaries.

“Meet me there in ten. We’re doin’ dinner,” Jack ordered. “Wear somethin’ nice.”

“Professional nice, or—”

“The other kind of nice, kitten,” Jack chuckled. Vaughn could almost picture Jack’s eyebrows bouncing up and down, and he did his best not to visibly cringe. “See you in ten.”

The call ended, and a cat-like grin stretched across Rhys’ features. “That’s _weird._ That kind of sounds like a date.”

Vaughn grumbled, briefly considering smacking the smug look off of his bro’s face. But even he had to concede. “If Jack was capable of anything close to a normal date… yeah, okay. That sounds like a date.”

“Good. I’m glad we agree.” Rhys hopped back and headed toward his room, presumably to put on something tight that gave flashes of his tattoo. And very suddenly, Vaughn really wished Rhys had never told him how often people fixated on that piece of ink. _As if that piece of knowledge didn’t suck_ before _all of this_.

“I agreed with you about it sounding like a _date_ ,” Vaughn countered. “Not that it was a good thing!”

Rhys responded by loudly slamming his bedroom door, and Vaughn growled. He paced the small space between the living room and the kitchen, scratching irritably at the back of his head. Now that Jack had snaked his way back into their life, was Rhys a lost cause? He was head over heels obsessed, and Vaughn couldn’t even blame him, after Isaac turned out to be such a manipulative dickhead.

Which Vaughn was _still_ holding against himself for failing to notice the pattern of behaviour, but alas…

There was one unfortunate sign about Rhys’ behaviour that left Vaughn particularly unsettled. Despite his acknowledgement that a life spent in proximity to Handsome Jack was not a normal one (Vaughn would like to also add unhealthy, stupid, and dangerous), he was perfectly fine to pretend like nothing was wrong. Even with all the evidence to the contrary, including their time spent on Pandora. But the thing that Vaughn found most difficult to accept was the significant change he’d noticed in Rhys in the past couple days.

Rhys was _happy_. And how could Vaughn interfere with that?

* * *

Rhys rolled into the Hub of Heroism at around 6AM, with his mind set on one thing: coffee. Well, that, and the slight headache pounding through his skull. And also maybe the fact that he’d stayed out with Jack until nearly 2AM. But really, it all culminated in the resulting need for caffeine, so…

Whatever. Shut up.

As he stood in the lineup to the coffee bar, Rhys traced circles into the floor under his feet, mind swimming as he reflected on the previous night. The restaurant had been fairly decadent, as expected, but it had been hard to appreciate the aesthetic of his surroundings when Jack’s knee kept bumping against his beneath the table.

They’d had a fairly substantial booth all to themselves, but Jack had insisted on sitting close to him, something that Rhys did not mind in the least. And as the server came and went, and Jack had sidled closer, Rhys flushed as their thighs pressed together.

“So…” he’d awkwardly gazed anywhere but Jack’s lap as the older man reached forward to pluck a champagne bottle off the table. “What’s the occasion?”

“We are _celebrating_ , Rhysie.” With a resounding _pop_ , Jack had worked the thing open, and turned to fill the two awaiting glasses. “I blew up one of the biggest bandit strongholds on Pandora, and _damn_ if that didn’t just make my day.”

Rhys wavered as Jack passed champagne to him, staring hard at the bubbles dancing inside the glass. “…uh…what camp was it?”

Jack paused, briefly glowering in his direction. “Calm your tits, cupcake. It wasn’t Hollow Point. But it _should_ have been, after that stunt your little friends pulled with the Gortys piece...”

Rhys breathed a sigh of relief, then smirked. “Sorry…guess I’m still a little messed up about the whole thing.”

“And I’m not sure _why_ ,” Jack snorted. He leaned toward him to palm his cheek; Rhys almost purred. “After all, you got to meet me. That had to have made it all worth it, right? You know, all the killing and maiming and face peeling and—”

“ _Jack..._ ”

“And look where we are now,” Jack ignored him, waving a hand through the air. “One more massive pain-in-my-ass taken care of! I think that there’s cause for some drunken revelry, don’t you?”

Jack had turned to pluck up his own glass, then sank back against the booth. Rhys felt an arm loop around his shoulders, and then suddenly he was pulled close to Jack, quickly finding a place tucked in by his side. He flushed at how _well_ he fit under Jack’s arm, pressed tight to his chest.

“So what do you say, Rhysie?” Jack asked softly, face suddenly close to his. “Shall we get shit-faced, and fuck like rabbits?”

“Oh my god.” Rhys had rolled his eyes in response, while doing his best not to bury his face in the other man’s neck, already drunk off his cologne.

“Actually, the name’s ‘Jack’,” he chuckled, before his gaze fell to Rhys’ lips. “But that works, too.”

Then Jack had leaned in and snagged his mouth.

After that, the details were a little fuzzy. He wasn’t certain how they’d managed to find their way back to Jack’s office, but he definitely remembered being bent over the desk. Jack had barely given him enough time to brace himself before he more or less fucked him into unconsciousness.

Rhys had awoken not long after in a contented daze, and realized he was somehow back on the leather couch with a blanket tossed over him. Jack was at his desk, heavily absorbed in whatever data filled his holoscreen. Careful not to disturb him, Rhys had gathered himself to head for the door, and when Jack didn’t seem to notice, Rhys quickly shrugged it off before returning to his apartment for a paltry few hours of sleep.

Which did not come easily, as one question lingered in Rhys’ mind — where had the blanket come from?

As Rhys paid for his order, and added the copious amounts of sugar to his cup, he did his best to ignore the temptation to overthink. It was dangerous, despite the wonderful things it did to his stomach. Better to let it go, and just appreciate the evening for what it was. After all — he’d had dreams of Jack’s desk long before he’d even met the man. He just never expected for them to come true.

Armed with glorious caffeine, he headed toward the elevator for Jack’s office. As he walked, he chewed at his lip to distract from the heavy beating of his heart. He could do this. He’d head up to the office, drop off the coffee, and get back to work on the turret. After all — that was his job. And it was just an entirely normal, average, run-of-the-mill work day. Totally.

But as Rhys rounded the corner, he stumbled to a stop. Jack stood at the elevator; his posture was rigid, hands on his hips as he impatiently tapped his foot and glared at the closed doors. Rhys briefly wavered upon approach, suddenly feeling unsure of how to approach Handsome Jack after the time he’d spent with, well, _Jack_.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he forced himself forward, but before he could think to offer a greeting, Jack was already looking toward him. A lazy grin replaced the tight, analytical look on his face, and his eyes dropped to take in every inch of Rhys.

“Well _hello_ , legs,” he smirked. “Hope you’re heading my way.”

“M-maybe.” Rhys grinned, holding back a blush. He moved toward Jack, still finding himself tongue tied and gazing down at the coffee in his hands. “Um, I—”

“Stunned, cupcake?” Jack winked at him. “Caught you off guard, didn’t I? I know, I know — even more stunning in person, _amirite?_ ”

Rhys faltered, head angled in confusion. “…uh…what?”

“Alright, pumpkin,” Jack continued, and the humour drained from his face, leaving him suddenly looking _tired._ He folded his arms over his chest, again gazing toward the elevator in annoyance. “What, you want an autograph or something? Want me to sign that giant forehead of yours?”

For a moment, Rhys flushed with irritation. What kind of game was Jack playing? And Rhys did _not_ have a giant forehead, it was perfectly _average_ , and—

Rhys stopped himself, taking a closer look at the man in front of him. Jack looked very, well, _Handsome Jack_ , but there was something off. Standing before the man now, there were small distinctions that set alarms off in his head. His reactions were oddly timed and peculiar, and he held strangely distant expressions whenever he looked away. There were hesitations where he gave the barest pause, as if searching for the perfect response.

Rhys flinched as not-Jack reached out, snapping his fingers in his face.

“Hey, you still with me, kiddo?”

“Sorry, uh, _sir…_ ” Rhys drawled. “But who the hell are you?” 

Not-Jack eased back in surprise.

“You, uh—” he gave a very Handsome Jack-like bark of disbelief. “You _are_ fucking with me, right pumpkin?”

He threw him a _don’t you know who I am?_ glare, and Rhys indeed straightened for a moment, but only as his eyes dropped to the Reaper holstered on not-Jack’s hip. But despite the lingering unease, Rhys couldn’t help double down. He gave a sharp glance around to confirm they were alone, before lowering his voice and eyeing the peculiar double.

“Seriously,” he hissed. “Who the hell are you? Because you are _not_ Handsome Jack."

Confronted with Rhys’ accusation, not-Jack didn’t respond. He didn’t counter with threats not-so-subtly laced with innuendo, nor did he sharpen those already angled brows. And he thankfully didn’t even reach for the gun strapped to his thigh. In fact, all he did was rock back on his heels, tilt his head, and stare.

At this, Rhys sank back in discomfort. If his suspicions were correct, it could mean one of two things. That this man was one of the rumoured body doubles Rhys had heard whispers of in the past, or he was a spy — a fantastic copy sent by Maliwan or Dahl or one of the dozens of enemies Hyperion had made in its rise to glory. Regardless, Rhys suddenly felt a ripple of fear at having discovered the other man’s secret. He shivered, eyes lingering on not-Jack’s pistol.

“Tim.”

Rhys flinched when not-Jack spoke again. The man’s composure shifted; his shoulders dropped; the lines of his mask softened. And there it was — all the visual confirmation Rhys needed to know _he was right_.

“What?” he gaped, feeling the barest of relief.

“My name is _Timothy_ ,” he answered, and Rhys saw the corner of his mouth tug upward. “I work for Jack.”

“Holy shit.”

 _Eloquent_. Rhys coughed, and not-Jack — Tim — smiled at him. “How the heck did you guess that?”

“Well, uh, Jack…” Rhys mumbled, then reconsidered. “I mean, I’m not sure. You just didn’t seem quite _right_.”

Timothy frowned in response. Rhys panicked.

“I mean, you’re _perfect_ , don’t get me wrong. I just… there’s _something_ , you know?”

“I’m _perfect_ , huh?” the doppelgänger smirked, leaning toward him, and Rhys blushed.

“I doubt anyone else could tell,” Rhys responded, dodging the real question.

“I should hope not.” Timothy scratched at one of the clasps on his mask. “Or we’re _both_ getting airlocked.”

This caused Rhys to grow pale, and he visibly flinched as the elevator _pinged_ its arrival. Timothy laughed, reaching out to pat Rhys’ shoulder.

“Don’t worry, cupcake. If you don’t say anything, I won’t.”

“That’s, uh…going to be hard to avoid,” Rhys admitted as they stepped into the elevator. Timothy opened his mouth in question, but paused to watch Rhys shuffle the cups in his hands before activating his cybernetic palm against the elevator panel. The doors immediately closed, and a light grid appeared to scan over their faces.

“Identities verified. Welcome, Handsome Jack. Rhys.”

Timothy closed his mouth, again easing back in minor disbelief. His gaze turned to linger on Rhys before he lifted a perfectly sharpened eyebrow.

“So…who the hell are _you?_ ”

Rhys chuckled. “I work for Jack.”

“Touche.”

Leaning against the wall, Rhys glanced over Timothy again. Now that his initial shock had subsided, he could appreciate how genuine the body-double was. There was no doubt why he normally passed as Jack — even when he was out of character, his appearance was flawless. From the tattoo on his wrist to the silver streak in his hair to the tiny scar on his neck where Rhys—

—definitely didn’t want to fixate, since this wasn’t Jack and there was only one reason he fixated on that spot in particular. He swallowed the lump in his throat, guiltily turning his attention to the elevator doors.

“So…what do you do, exactly?” he hummed. “For Jack, I mean?”

“Oh, you know…” Timothy thumbed at his angular chin. “I go to the events he’s too busy to attend, or doesn’t care about. Sign autographs, punch babies, pose like a hero. That kind of thing.”

Rhys’ eyes widened. He caught himself wondering how many times he’d been fooled by the body double in all the promotional materials he’d seen. Probably more than he would have liked.

“Mostly, I’ve been at the Handsome Jackpot Casino for the last few years. It was pretty cushy, but I had a rough couple months when it locked down after Jack, uh…” Timothy paused, glancing nervously at Rhys from the corner of his eye. Rhys stiffened, and Timothy frowned, quickly changing the subject. “You know, I used to run ops for him? Elpis, Pandora, Eden’s moons. Wherever he needed me to go.”

“No way,” Rhys thrilled. “An _operative?_ So you can kick some pretty serious ass, I imagine.”

“I manage.” Timothy smiled. “Out of practice, maybe… probably why Jack called me in. Could do with some training.”

“I wish I had experience in that…” Rhys considered. “I mean, not as intense, of course, but I wouldn’t mind knowing how to…handle things. Look after myself. I can be pretty mean with a stun baton, but…”

This seemed to surprise Timothy, who turned bodily to watch Rhys. “…what do you do?”

“I’m a programmer.”

“…I mean, wow. I knew Helios was pretty cutthroat, but—”

“No, it’s not like that,” Rhys shrugged. “In the past year I’ve managed to put myself in situations for which I was woefully unprepared… I would like that to change. Or at least be better prepared for it.”

Timothy hummed, swaying on his heels. “…well…if I’m around for a while, I wouldn’t mind showing you a thing or two…”

Rhys’ eyes widened. “Really?”

“Sure,” Timothy shrugged. “I mean, Jack keeps me pretty busy, but like I said — I’ll probably be back in training for a bit. If you happened to stumble across one of the sessions, you never know…”

“That’d be fantastic. Thanks, Timothy.” Rhys nodded his appreciation, following close behind as the body double headed out the elevator doors.

“But uh…” Timothy faltered in step, looking pointedly back at him. “Let’s keep _that_ between us. Got it, kiddo?”

Rhys smirked. “Yes, _sir_.”

* * *

Jack’s stare lingered heavily on the report lighting up his holoscreen, doing his best not to empty his clip into the interface panel. The details on Sanctuary’s downfall were irritatingly sparse, despite the public chaos of it all. Undoubtedly, many of the main Crimson Raiders had survived, likely due to the Firebitch’s Siren abilities. But where they had _gone_ was another question entirely.

Which would have been nothing more than an _annoyance_ but for one fact — there had been no trace of his Vault key anywhere in the floating city. Either the Raiders had grabbed it during their hasty exit, or they hadn’t obtained it at all.

He released a seething exhale, clenching his hands into fists. Even unintentionally, Lilith thwarted him at every turn. Oh, how he couldn’t wait to make her suffer.

Jack didn’t look up at the sound of his office doors opening. He sank back in his chair, continuing to scan the report from Blake, carefully noting all the locations they’d already scouted. It was only when the scent of fresh coffee hit his nostrils did he lift his head, expression softening as he gazed over his desk at Rhys. The desk that he’d had the younger man bent over not five hours earlier. Jack looked slowly down at the surface, then back up at Rhys, grinning wickedly.

“Morning, Jack,” Rhys seemed to miss his gesture, offering a shy smile. “Figured you might need this?”

“Rhysie,” Jack groaned, leaning forward to accept the cup, and making sure their fingers brushed together in the hand-off. “Thanks, kitten. I—”

His words hastened to a halt as his attention passed over to Timothy. The doppelgänger casually stood at Rhys’ side, the pair of them watching Jack as if nothing was peculiar about the situation. He sat back in his throne, placing the coffee down to carefully scrutinize the two.

“…uh, cupcake?”

Rhys followed Jack’s line of sight, glancing toward Timothy in question when a sweet little blush crossed his features. He immediately dropped his head. “He, uh…didn’t recognize me.”

Jack stared incredulously at Rhys for a moment, watching as the pair shifted uncomfortably. He tipped his head back in laughter, then pushed onto his feet, smacking his knee before he proceeded around the desk.

“So, so wait—” he barked. “Timmy here broke cover because he didn’t know we—”

“ _Work together and he should have recognized me, yes_ ,” Rhys urgently interrupted him, expression tight as he glared across at Jack.

“Oh, please tell me you, like, tried to _hug_ him or something,” Jack cackled as he passed by Timothy. The double awkwardly stepped out of the way, taken aback when Jack moved straight for Rhys. The cybernetic man postured, holding his ground at Jack’s advance, back straightening to meet the challenge. It was adorable, really.

“In what reality would I come up and _hug_ you, Jack?” Rhys growled. “I mean, I—”

Jack furled his arms around Rhys, tugging him into his chest, and the younger man went silent in disbelief. He chuckled deeply as he pressed his face into Rhys’ neck, nuzzling the corner of his jawline. “Oh, Rhysie…what’d you do when I snuffed you? Were you all mumbly and shy like now?”

“Leggo!” Rhys growled into Jack, pushing uselessly against him. “I’m not mumbly and shy!”

“He was a little,” Timothy admitted, and Rhys shot him a look of betrayal. “But he caught on pretty damn quickly.”

“Is that so?” Rhys puffed his annoyance as Jack released him to turn and examine his body double. “Are we out of practice, Tim?”

Timothy’s eyes widened, and he drew up to his full height, chin held firmly as Jack scrutinized him. Rhys snorted behind him, suspiciously quick to come to Tim’s defence.

“Oh, he definitely has the ‘Handsome Jack’ brand down. He even called me _‘Legs’_ . _”_

Jack snorted . He set a hand against Rhys’ lower back, turning his head back on Tim. “You _didn’t._ Oh, that is perfect."

“So, uh…” Timothy shifted uncomfortably in place, casting his gaze anywhere but where Jack rested his hand. “You asked for me, Jack?”

“Right. To business. Rhys—” Jack gently patted Rhys’ ass, gesturing toward the door. “Thanks for the coffee, kitten. Now scram.”

Rhys glared balefully at Jack for a moment, before turning to descend the steps.

“Nice meeting you, Timothy,” he hummed, and the doppelgänger nodded back.

Jack had returned to his throne, sinking into place as Timothy took the spot across from him. He waited until Rhys left the room, before spinning his attention back on Jack.

“So…that was…”

“Not why you’re here, _obviously_ ,” Jack waved his hand. “I’d like to put together a new team, and I need to know where we stand.”

“Where we _stand?”_ Timothy asked, tilting his head.

“With Wil and Nish gone, that leaves us few people I actually trust,” Jack continued. “Hammerlock is occupied with who knows what, and Athena is…very much not an option.”

“Wait, what happened to…” Timothy paused at the change in Jack’s expression, seeming to reconsider. “I mean — well, shall we put another call out? For hunters?”

Jack sat back, brow furrowed. “Yeah, after the last batch, I’m not sure that’s an option…”

“Well, you did try to blow up the train they were on,” Timothy rolled his eyes. “I’d be pissed, too.”

“Correction, pumpkin,” Jack snapped. “I didn’t _try_ . I _did_ blow up that train. And it was spectacular.”

“Hence the, uh, _revenge.”_

“Which is why I need replacements,” Jack ignored Tim, pushing to his feet. He placed his palms onto the desk. “Hyperion is back on Pandora. And before our operations kick off, I’d like to deal with all those _assholes_ who thought it was a good idea to mess with Handsome Jack.”

“I’ll do what I can,” Timothy nodded. Jack scanned him; the apprehension on his double’s face was palpable. “…but loyalty like that is hard to find these days.”

Before Jack could stop himself, he was gazing absentmindedly toward the doors of his office. Timothy caught his expression, and followed his eye line before Jack could think to look away.

“Anyone else you can suggest?” Timothy asked quietly, slowly looking back at him.

“No one from Helios,” Jack said immediately. “Don’t even try.”

Timothy’s stare hung heavily on Jack for a moment, then he moved to stand. Jack intercepted him by lifting a hand.

“One more thing…” he turned to the console on his desk, and his holoscreen winked out. It was replaced by a projection centred over the full surface of the desk, where Timothy could see the projected hologram. His eyes widened.

“The vault key…”

“ _My_ vault key,” Jack sneered. “You know, the one I’m holding in half the goddamn statues in Opportunity? Yeah. I need you to find it.”

“Okay…” Timothy breathed, scanning the image floating in his face. “Where should I start?”

“Our spy was pretty sure the Crimson Raiders had it on Sanctuary. But then we blew their shit up, so…”

“So it could be anywhere.”

“Right.”

“What’s the latest from your spy?”

“Nothing,” Jack grunted. “Since we took out their headquarters, the Raiders have gone silent.”

“Great,” Timothy rocked back, hands on his hips. “So we have no team, no vault key, and no intel. What _do_ we have?”

“One handsome, immortal leader, and the second best Vault Hunter we could ask for,” Jack aimed a finger-gun and a wink his way; Timothy snorted.

“I’m guessing first best was Typhon DeLeon?”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Cute.”

“Thanks.”

“Alright, alright. I’m leaving it up to you, Timmy. Get me some intel, and find my key,” Jack strode around the desk, reaching out to pat his back as they moved toward the stairs. “Oh, and hit the gym, would you? You’re looking a little doughy.”

“Just doing my part in maintaining the Handsome Jack brand,” Timothy retorted, and Jack shot him a look. He reached up and cupped a hand around Timothy’s neck, dragging him close; the look of tired amusement drained from the doppelgänger’s face in an instant.

“Listen, cupcake…” he hissed. “You see the sharp lines in this mask?”

Timothy carefully lifted his head to scan him, and nodded.

“These are signs of _restraint_. See, I’m a man with nothing left to lose. And _despite_ that, people just keep trying to _take_. So if I don’t get a win or two _very soon_ , heads are gonna roll.” Jack leaned into his arm, shoving Timothy off balance. He staggered, catching himself at the edge of the dais with a wary gaze back at Jack. “So get your ass moving, and do your damn job. Got it?”

Timothy shivered. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Jack straightened. “Now get out of my office.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rhys and Tim like  
> 


	10. Jack’s Elevator Shaft

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In-YOUR-endo.

“Alright, lay it on me, Jimmy.”

“Jeffrey,” Rhys supplied, to which Blake glanced at him in surprise. Avoiding the man’s eye contact, Rhys feigned ignorance to the precedent he very nearly set by correcting Jack’s mistake.

“Jeffrey,” Jack grunted, in annoyed acceptance. “What have you got?”

Rhys almost smirked, but stifled the impulse, turning away as Blake began reading off his report. He didn’t actually belong in this meeting, so he turned his palm upward in distraction, scanning through the latest messages awaiting him. It was already difficult to separate himself from the pair, cramped as it was in the small elevator car. It became even more troublesome when he felt warmth at his back, and he realized immediately that Jack had naturally moved closer to him. Thankfully, it was yet distant enough that Rhys did not flinch at the sudden presence.

“Quarterly earnings are up. It’s a dramatic improvement, after—”

“ _Dramatic_ ,” Jack scoffed. “You say that like it’s unexpected.”

Rhys looked up with wide eyes, meeting Blake’s nervous gaze. The man almost looked to be pleading with him, to which Rhys wanted to shrug — _I can’t help you._ But luckily, Jack waved dismissively.

“Keep going,” he growled, and Blake paused as he dropped his attention back to his tablet.

Rhys looked away shyly, suddenly aware of how awkward it was that he was there. He wasn’t Jack’s PA, but he’d quickly become a peculiar fixture at the man’s side. It wasn’t intentional on his part; on many occasions in the last month, he’d be happily working away in his separate office when Jack would summon him along on some excursion around Helios. Rhys didn’t complain, but he realized it must look strange, and he wondered if Blake had noticed the oddity of his presence. If he did, he did not indicate as much.

At least, not until Jack’s hand came to rest idly on Rhys’ shoulder.

Both he and Blake stiffened at the action, but thankfully Blake didn’t miss a beat as he picked right back up, switching over to production costs. Jack simply hummed answers as he listened, shifting in place. Rhys did his best to forget the gesture, but before he could return to his messages, he felt Jack’s fingers curl up and into the hair at the nape of his neck.

Jack was _playing with_ _his hair_. Rhys stared blindly at his cybernetic palm, desperately trying not to shiver — _or swoon_ — as Jack openly caressed him in front of Blake. The other man did his best to maintain his composure, rattling off figures in an attempt to ignore what was happening in the cramped space of the elevator. And the whole time, Jack seemed entirely oblivious to their pain, fully leaning into Rhys’ shoulder.

Despite the embarrassment of the moment, Rhys’ heart was bursting. He enjoyed every brush of Jack’s fingers, pressing back to absorb as much of the heat from Jack’s chest as he could without being obvious.

The casual sex was one thing. And the friendly banter that had become almost commonplace between them was another. But this — Jack behaving this way in _public?_

Rhys’ eyes fluttered when Jack’s fingers found his earlobe. The warmth of his touch sent a ripple through him, and Rhys accidentally let slip a very regrettable moan.

Immediately, Jack tensed against him, and Rhys froze as Blake stumbled to a halt.

“Um—”

Jack said nothing, abruptly stepping around Rhys to thumb the elevator panel. The car quickly came to a stop, with the doors opening at the next floor. Rhys glanced at Jack in question, when he felt a hand clasp the back of his neck, and he was suddenly shoved _hard_ against the wall of the elevator. His forehead connected with the metal; he grimaced, throwing his hands against the railing in surprise.

“Jack, what the f—”

“Get out.”

“Sir?”

“OUT.”

Blake quickly exited the elevator car, carefully stepping into the crowd of people that watched with wide eyes. Rhys glanced them in his periphery from where he was pinned beneath Jack’s hand, managing to make eye contact with Blake one last time before the door slid shut, leaving him alone with Jack.

A bizarre mixture of delight and annoyance overtook Rhys, and he grumbled as Jack appeared again at his back. He was shoved tighter against the wall and expertly stripped of his vest. Jack casually discarded it on the floor before descending on his neck. A shudder worked its way through Rhys as lips and teeth moved across his skin; he instinctively scrabbled for purchase, grasping onto the railing as Jack pressed bodily against him. Then hands were tugging at his hips, and he glanced down in time to catch Jack loosening his belt.

“You damn tease,” Jack breathed against his ear.

“Oh yes,” Rhys rolled his eyes. “Because that was _all me_.”

“Shut up and take these off…” 

“No, _Jack_ , I’m not doing this here, we—”

Jack cut him off with a snap of his hips. Rhys groaned as he felt Jack’s hardened length caress his ass. His clothing was dragged down in a fluid motion before a foot appeared next to his, kicking his stance open. There was a brief pause as Jack worked at his own belt, before Jack’s fingers suddenly reappeared, wet and prying. Rhys bucked in surprise, trying to evade the sudden intrusion despite the heat in his chest.

“Jack!”

“Rhysie,” he growled, voice thick with lust. “Killing the mood, here.”

“What mood!? When was there a mood?”

Jack’s slick finger pressed inside him, and Rhys immediately arched. Jack braced against his back, biting at the skin of his neck. An arm looped its way around Rhys’ abdomen, holding him tight as if to prevent his minor struggle of resistance.

“Okay, so there wasn’t a mood,” Jack admitted, quickly adding a second finger. Rhys whined at the stretch, not having had time to prepare for the first. “Maybe I just wanted to fuck you in an elevator.”

“During a _meeting?_ ” Rhys gasped as Jack’s fingers uncomfortably spread him apart.

“That sound you made more or less _ended_ that meeting, pumpkin,” Jack stated plainly. “Unless you want me to bring Jimmy back? He’ll do it, you know. He’ll give me the full report while I — _unh.”_

Jack thrusted against him as he added the third finger. Rhys cried out in pain, head tossed back against Jack’s shoulder.

“…while I fuck you senseless. They all would. I could bend you over in front of the board of directors, and they’d go on like nothing was amiss.”

Rhys knew for a fact that wasn’t true. Well, not the fact that they’d continue, because they certainly would. But it wouldn’t be without a high level of discomfort — and not just from the tight stretch of Jack’s thick fingers.

It was bad enough that Blake had witnessed the beginning of… whatever _this_ was. The employees outside the elevator likely would have believed Jack was about to maim or kill Rhys for some minor indiscretion, which was certainly preferable over the truth. But Blake was armed with slightly more delicate information. Would the man _do_ anything with that information?

Rhys flinched as Jack plucked his fingers away before lining himself up. In short order, Jack pressed his full shaft into Rhys; the pair groaned in unison as he buried himself to the hilt. Jack’s hands tightened their grip where they grasped onto Rhys, and he began to unceremoniously fuck him into the wall. Rhys staggered, breath punched out in surprise and pain, and he desperately held onto Jack, feeling clumsy as the larger man had his way.

He was hot and bothered and confused and — was he _enjoying_ this? He couldn’t really tell if the flush in his face was from lust or embarrassment.

“Damn, Rhysie,” Jack uttered at his ear. “So tight for me. So good.”

At Jack’s encouragement, Rhys felt his cock jump. He ignored the pulse of _need_ in his groin to instead moan, reaching over his shoulder to run his fingers through Jack’s hair.

Okay. He was enjoying it. But he could be ashamed at the same time.

Jack’s teeth reappeared at his neck — fixated as always on the tattooed flesh. Rhys smiled inwardly, pleased that the mark had the desired effect. He caught himself briefly wondering what college-aged Rhys would’ve thought if he knew where that decision had landed him. Handsome Jack himself, laving it with his tongue and gnashing his teeth over it like a feral dog.

Now that Jack had achieved some semblance of a rhythm, Rhys dropped his hand away from its death grip on the wall to palm his own cock. He thumbed at the head to slick his hand with precum, before sliding down his half erect length. And with each punctuating thrust from Jack brushing his sweet spot, Rhys quickly found himself breathless and shivering. He leaned his head back onto Jack’s shoulder, continuing to lace his fingers through his hair.

Jack’s movements became erratic, and Rhys struggled again to hold his position against the wall. A guttural sound escaped Jack’s lips, before he leaned forward against Rhys’ back. Sharp teeth suddenly punctured Rhys’ shoulder, causing him to cry out in alarm and pleasure, thrilling at the sensation of Jack lapping at the wound. He’d most certainly drawn blood, but Rhys realized he didn’t care in the least. Just another in a series of bruises he already kept hidden beneath his button-up.

Rhys moaned as Jack continued his punishing course, slamming into him from behind. A hand looped under his arm and up, where it grasped at his throat. It tightened just enough to send Rhys into a light-headed daze, where he hung on the cusp of his own orgasm. With a mindless hum, he was matching Jack’s pace now, and the pressure mounting in his thighs was reaching its threshold.

Then suddenly Jack withdrew, and Rhys stumbled. Jack gripped his shoulder to spin him, shoving his back against the wall of the elevator. Rhys shuddered as he lifted his head to find Jack as out of sorts as he was; sweat slicked hair dangled in over his forehead and mismatched, hungry eyes scanned Rhys’ face.

And then Jack was leaning in, pressing their mouths together. Rhys whimpered at the warm press of their bared, slick cocks. Their hands exchanged places; Rhys moved to grasp Jack’s impressive girth just as he returned the favour, his entire body rippling while Jack began pumping him toward climax with a painful but utterly wonderful grip.

As if asking permission, bidding entrance, Jack lightly nipped at his lower lip, and Rhys lapped his tongue against Jack’s in return. He felt a hand trace along his face before Jack set to consuming his mouth, holding him impossibly close.

Rhys closed his eyes. He heard nothing but the hum of the elevator, the pounding of his heart in his ears, and the brief, intense panting of breaths stolen between kisses. Then he was jerking back to the wall, as spatters of thick, wet heat spewed over his hand, with Jack’s body bucking against him. Rhys followed immediately after; Jack’s hand tightened, and he couldn’t contain himself any longer. He came into his grip, pulsing spasmodically within his fingers.

And still, Jack’s lips were against his. His hand was along his jawline, gently cupping his face.

The two were collapsed into one another, somehow having ended up in the corner of the elevator. Rhys was the first to move, just enough to catch his breath and open his eyes, but Jack remained in place, despite the unbearable heat clinging to the pair, undoubtedly made worse by the layers of clothing the older man insisted on wearing. Just as Rhys was tempted to snort in laughter and tease Jack, he instead eased back in muted wonder.

All he could do was _stare_.

Handsome Jack was nearly doubled over, face pressed insistently against Rhys’ neck. He hummed softly, some imperceptible sound, and Rhys could feel a soft kiss at the bite on his neck. Jack was adrift, staring unseeing and panting softly as he leaned his frame against him. It reminded Rhys of the moment he’d returned from the hanger bay weeks back, and just _leaned_ on him. For a moment, he marvelled at how _human_ Jack was, how genuine his body. It was real and warm and _perfect_. But his thoughts quickly dissolved as he returned to playing at Jack’s hair, sinking back into the corner.

His heart palpated, and it had little to do with the exertion of the last few minutes. There was nothing more precious than this moment — after sex and before returning to wherever they happened to be in reality — with Jack clinging to him with such raw affection that Rhys wished he would never let go. He was positive that Jack was unaware of what he was doing, but he wasn’t going to go and ruin it by pointing it out.

The hand that had been at his jaw curled up to nudge his ear. It sent another minor thrill through Rhys, his hips bucking in response, and Jack grinned.

“That’s the spot, huh?”

“Sorry?” Rhys wavered, still lost somewhere in his post-handjob haze.

“Right here,” Jack growled lustfully, again brushing at his ear. Rhys moaned, and Jack tensed against him before chuckling softly. “There it is. Good to know.”

Rhys had known about that particular trigger for a long time. And he was also aware that no one had ever paid attention to it like Jack. What he hadn’t known, and was now quietly and happily filing away for later, was what the resulting sound of his moan did to _Jack_.

* * *

“Okay, kiddo. Are you ready?”

The younger man shifted uneasily in place, but offered a small nod. Timothy couldn’t help but smirk, half tempted to reach forward to pat the poor boy on the head. He managed to resist the very Jack-like gesture of condescension, and instead moved behind Rhys to rest his hands on his shoulders. Through this, he could feel a ripple of nervousness go through the cybernetic man’s frame.

“You’ve done well on the range. And I trust you’ve been practicing reloading?”

“Yes.”

“Alright. It’s time for a field test.”

As Rhys gazed over his shoulder, Timothy could see the uncertainty in his wide eyes.

“Are you sure—”

“It’s just a simulation,” Timothy hummed, offering a gentle smile. “They can’t hurt you. I mean, you might feel a little buzz when they shoot you.”

To demonstrate this, Timothy removed the dummy blade from the sheath against his lower back. He pressed it straight into the ribs of Rhys’ armour, and he flinched in response. The armour provided just enough feedback for Rhys to _feel_ the direction of the attack, without providing any of the pain. Well, not any _real_ pain. After all, the settings were set to _rookie_. But if Rhys handled the switch to the arena well, Timothy expected he’d be increasing those settings before long.

“You mean _‘if’_ , right?”

“No. _When_ , cupcake.”

Rhys swallowed the lump in his throat.

“You’re going to be in an open battleground. There will be five enemies to eliminate. Remember to stay low, and watch your flank. Use whatever means you have to take them all out. Oh…” Timothy reached around Rhys’ shoulder to tap on his helmet. “Except that eye of yours. No cheating.”

Even beneath the gear, Rhys visibly quivered. But then the younger man was righting himself, shaking off the unease with some unspoken bolster of confidence. Timothy dropped his hands away from Rhys’ frame, an eyebrow raised.

“Okay,” Rhys nodded. “Let’s do this.”

“Alright. Head into the centre.”

Rhys moved away, leaving Timothy to head toward a small set of stairs nearby. He ascended to the control room overlooking the arena, and proceeded to the console. The simulation was already prepped, awaiting activation. He double checked the settings, then activated his comm.

“Ready up, soldier.”

Down in the middle of the arena, Rhys sank into position. The submachine gun was pressed tight to his frame; he dropped back into a defensive stance. Something not unlike pride struck Timothy in the chest, and he hesitated long enough to smile down at the unassuming programmer before stabbing the button on the console.

Hard lines of light erupted through the arena. All around Rhys, the room shifted form. A new skin flickered over the various obstacles in the room — a copy of a Hyperion Facility from down on Pandora, and Rhys began to cast his gaze about, carefully noting the layout. As soon as the buildings took shape, he stepped into the alcove of a nearby structure, pressing his shoulder against the wall as he surveyed his surroundings.

At the far end of the facility, a bandit screamed in bloody rage. The psycho tore down the ramp, wielding a buzz axe overhead. Rhys spotted him almost immediately, and turned his SMG in response. Rapid burst fire took the advancing man down quickly, with surprisingly precise aim.

Timothy snorted. “No ECHOeye!”

“I’m not!” Rhys shouted his complaint, and Timothy chuckled, leaning against the console for a better view.

Rhys moved toward the corpse, putting another few rounds into the body.

“Good thinking,” Timothy hummed. “But be sure to conserve your ammo, even when making sure they’re dead.”

Rhys nodded his response, before slamming a fresh clip into his gun. He stepped back into the alcove to again scan the area.

“Use your gun,” Timothy instructed, a quick bark into the comm. “Your weapon should lead the way. That way, when you see a bandit, all you need to do is pull the trigger.”

Rhys immediately brought the SMG up in response, using it to sweep his immediate vicinity. Timothy frowned as Rhys returned to press his back into the wall of the alcove. His fingers danced across the console as he manipulated the simulation, determined to discourage Rhys from camping.

A marauder appeared on the walkway on the second level across from Rhys, hefting an assault rifle over his shoulder as he skittered toward the edge. Rhys glanced up in alarm, then bolted out from the alcove. He slid across to a barrier, crouching behind it just as a hail of bullets erupted across the metal panelling behind him. He was out of Timothy’s view now, but just as the bandit paused to reload, Rhys tossed something into the air.

The virtual grenade arced beautifully, and Timothy’s eyes widened as he watched it soar through the sky, before it bounced off the marauder’s head. It exploded, sending the bandit back against the wall. As he slumped to the ground, a spatter of blood streaked down the metal behind him.

“Holy shit.”

Timothy could just hear Rhys’ nervous chuckle, as his head popped up from behind the barrier.

“Well, that was lucky.”

“Shit, kiddo,” Timothy smirked. “I thought that was intentional.”

Rhys looked up at the control tower, and Timothy could almost picture the blush crossing his cheeks beneath his helmet.

“Uh…I mean…yeah, totally.”

Another rip of gunfire caught Rhys’ attention, but too late to spare him from a bullet tagging his back. The armour he wore lit up where the bullet struck his shoulder, forcing him to roll in response. He shoved his back against the barrier as a newly arriving bandit quickly advanced on his position. They exchanged bullets; Timothy winced as the screen highlighting Rhys’ armour stats lit up with impact points.

The bandit landed at his feet with a hard _thud._ Rhys’ heavy breathing issued out over the comm, and he lowered the SMG to palm at his ribs.

“Ow.”

“Move, cupcake,” Timothy barked. “Your shield’s about to break.”

Rhys shakily got to his feet, lifting his gun into place. He dashed along the arena floor, finding cover in the doorway to the facility.

“What’s the recharge delay on this thing?” he grumbled, glancing down at the shield affixed to his hip. “Wait — is this an _Anshin?”_

Timothy shrugged. “Better recharge than Hyperion. What can I say.”

He considered for a moment, watching as Rhys surveyed the area. Then he leaned forward, palming his face.

“Don’t tell Jack.”

Rhys chuckled, but didn’t respond. Timothy followed the angle of his head to where Rhys seemed transfixed, toward the far end of the facility. There was a large hole in the wall bordering the arena, a gap of twisted metal where the bandits had made their entry. A psycho had crawled through, and was tearing around presumably in search of his next meat puppet. But Rhys’ attention seemed to linger on the next bandit to appear.

“Badass,” he uttered, shifting for better cover against the doorway.

“Good eye,” Timothy nodded. He straightened, setting his hands onto his hips. It was difficult not to relay instruction, as he watched Rhys mentally calculate his next moves. At this point, the cybernetic man was on his own.

Rhys dashed out from his cover, and bullets tore across the ground after him. He pivoted as he ran, shooting toward the badass, before climbing the stairs leading to the second level. The psycho’s buzz axe bounced off the ground beside him, just missing his ankle.

“Shit.”

“You’re good. Keep going.”

Rhys hunkered lower as he moved across the second level, just out of the badass’ view. He spun, bringing his SMG around just in time for the psycho to arrive, and he put him down with relative ease.

“Nice work. It’s tempting to focus on the big guy, but it’s often the smaller ones that hit hard when you’re distracted.”

“That, and I’m pretty sure he was about to embed his axe into my skull.”

Timothy chuckled. “Well, probably.”

Rhys pushed up from his crouched position, gazing over the edge. A bullet snagged his helmet, and a flash of light burst around him as his shield broke. He immediately dropped low, then advanced along the walkway to shift his angle on the badass that slowly strode through the courtyard below.

“Come on out, bitch!”

Having changed locations, Rhys chanced another quick look over the edge. The badass moved along the wall opposite, heading toward the stairs in pursuit. Rhys reached to his belt, then carefully aimed and lobbed another grenade. It soared through the air before bouncing off the wall beside the badass, rolling to a stop at his feet.

Timothy eased back. Okay, so maybe the first throw _hadn’t_ just been lucky.

The badass grunted as the grenade erupted, breaking his shield.

“That’s the best you’ve got?” he snarled, running for the stairs. Rhys panicked upon realizing he’d backed himself into a corner. A rattle of gunfire came from behind, pushing him to quickly climb over the ledge in a desperate bid to escape, all the while firing over his shoulder. He slid down the angled wall, then dropped several feet to the ground below. Immediately, the armour UI for his legs lit up as Rhys cried out in pain.

“That’s a sprain,” he winced. “Thaaaat hurt. Oh god.”

Rhys fumbled the SMG, palming the ground as he crawled. Timothy bristled with worry, eyes darting from Rhys to the badass, to Rhys again.

“Kiddo—”

“I can’t,” Rhys hissed, staggering for cover. “I—”

The badass followed his path, sliding down the wall. He managed the drop with ease, and suddenly he was standing over Rhys. The bandit came to almost straddle the prone man as he aimed his assault rifle at his face.

Timothy winced. This was it. But to be fair, he got farther than Tim expected.

“You can’t handle me!”

“Fuck you!”

Rhys rolled, thrusting something up into the bandit’s ribs. A burst of electricity exploded between them, and the badass jerked wildly as it crossed into his frame. He staggered before his assault rifle clattered to the ground, followed quickly by his limp body.

Timothy straightened, eyes wide.

“…huh.”

Rhys chuckled, breathlessly, as he pushed onto his elbow. He flicked the stun baton in his wrist.

“Told you.”

“So you did.”

Timothy deactivated the simulation, and headed down into the arena as the facility skin dissipated. As he approached, Rhys was stumbling to his feet with a wince, leaning onto the barrier next to him. Timothy reached out to steady him, and Rhys tore his helmet off, letting it fall onto the floor.

“I’m fine,” he laughed shakily. “Just my calf. I’m fine.”

“I’ll teach you how to handle those drops,” Timothy frowned. “Sorry. We should have practiced recovery. Please, uh…”

He paused as Rhys bent over to grasp at his leg muscle, holding onto Timothy’s arm.

“Please what?”

“…don’t tell Jack.”

Rhys laughed, but as he lifted his head to meet Timothy’s gaze, he seemed to realize he was serious.

“What? Why would I…?”

Timothy shrugged. “I don’t know. Sorry. You two are close. I just didn’t want him getting the idea that I was torturing you, or something.”

Rhys winced, looking away. “We’re close, huh?”

Angling his head, Timothy carefully scanned the other man. “Am I wrong?”

Before Rhys answered, Tim was looping an arm around his back for support, and began to lead him to the storage slash locker room to one side of the arena. Rhys somewhat hobbled along, testing his leg as they moved.

“Jack and I are…” he sighed. “Complicated.”

“ _Jack_ is complicated,” Timothy rolled his eyes. “Enough said.”

Rhys chuckled as he let Timothy lead him into the room, carefully easing down onto a bench. He began removing his armour, releasing the clasps and dropping the pieces onto the seat beside him.

“Thank you, by the way.”

Timothy leaned against a nearby set of lockers, gazing at Rhys in question.

“For what?”

“For this,” Rhys gestured around them. “The training. I mean, I’m more stiff than I’ve ever been in my life, but I also just feel…free, you know?”

Timothy smiled. “No problem. Glad I could help.”

“Let’s just hope the next session goes a little better…”

“Yeah, you definitely almost died once or twice.” Tim rubbed the back of his neck. “But you killed a badass, so… points for that. Don’t worry, kiddo. You’ll be a Vault Hunter before long.”

Rhys’ head snapped up. He stared at him, lips parted, causing Timothy to pause. He’d forgotten how Hyperion propaganda had painted Vault Hunters with a deceptive brush, almost ignoring Jack’s own history. He averted his eyes, coughing awkwardly to cover his blunder.

“I mean, uh…”

“You mean like Axton? Or Zero?”

Well, _that_ was surprising. Timothy looked back at Rhys, amazed to see excitement emanating from the cybernetic man.

“What?”

Rhys blushed. “Sorry. But they’re actually kinda cool. And Axton…”

The younger man shuddered, and Timothy almost laughed.

“Aren’t you Hyperion devotees supposed to hate Vault Hunters?”

Rhys shrugged, leaning over to remove his boots. “I can’t hate Zero. He saved my life.”

Timothy froze. He watched Rhys in silence, feeling a flicker of fear for him. In their previous sessions, Rhys had told him a little about his time on Pandora, but had definitely omitted that little factoid. Did _Jack_ know? It was hard to believe he’d keep Rhys around, if he was aware he had links to the assassin who’d been responsible for...

“Rhys—”

Before he could get the warning out, Rhys’ arm chirped. He turned his palm over, immediately connecting the call.

“Rhys Strongfork.”

“Heya, kitten. Where the hell are you?”

They both stiffened.

“Just...getting some exercise,” Rhys swallowed hard. “Was feeling a bit cooped up in that office. Did you need something?”

“Yeah. You.” Jack’s voice was a grumble over the call. “Should put a damn tracker on you, or something.”

“Absolutely not,” Rhys snipped back. “What’s up, Jack?”

“Get to my office. I need you to do something for me.”

“Okay. Give me about fifteen—”

The call disconnected. Rhys sighed. He lowered his arm, looking at Timothy with an annoyed expression.

“How do you put up with him?”

Timothy tilted his head. “When did I give you the impression that I had a choice?”

Rhys laughed nervously, turning to collect his armour. Timothy stepped across the room to intercept him.

“I’ll handle it. You get going, kiddo,” he leaned in, then made a show of wrinkling his nose. “Better take a shower before you get back up there.”

Rhys shot him a look, but eased. “Okay. Thanks again, Timothy.”

As Rhys hobbled toward the door, Timothy winced. He dropped his eyes to the floor, feeling a flush of shame.

“Rhys?”

“Yeah?” He lingered in the doorway.

“Just…please. Keep this between us…okay, pumpkin?”

Rhys nodded, offered a smile, then disappeared.

Timothy sank onto the bench, running fingers through his hair. Okay, so — admittedly, he knew a little about the relationship between Rhys and Jack. It was impossible to ignore, what with the way his boss had embraced the younger man the first time he met the kid. But suddenly, he felt a little nervous about having agreed to train Rhys.

Jack was the kind of person to expect people to come to _him_. Timothy was pretty sure he didn’t even call looking for Nisha, and he’d called her his goddamn girlfriend.

Timothy stooped to collect Rhys’ discarded armour, doing his best to ignore the warning bells in the back of his head. Because between him and Rhys, he wasn’t sure if either of them knew what they were doing. Hopefully, their value to Jack would outweigh his anger by the time he inevitably found out.

And if not, well…

Well, shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  [Full thing here.](https://lysodesigns.tumblr.com/post/190331449651/i-dont-even-know-what-im-doing-anymore)


	11. Obedient Little Mutt

A resounding _crack_ filled Rhys’ ears as he stretched his arms; he shuddered at the distinct click of movement in his shoulder socket. Groaning as he stepped out of the elevator, he moved down the hallway, rubbing at his neck as if it might relieve the muscle fatigue that had been setting in over the course of the last couple of days. His first few sessions with Timothy had been simple, covering weapon types and how to handle them, along with some unarmed combat techniques. They’d been mild, from a Vault Hunter’s standpoint, but after the events of that morning, Rhys was reminded he wasn’t exactly a paragon of physical fitness. He was sore from head to toe, and had a noticeable limp by the time he arrived at the doors to Jack’s office.

He took a moment to collect himself, swatting away the wrinkles in his shirt and adjusting his hair, before moving inside. But as he crossed into the vast room, he quickly noticed Jack’s absence. Rhys slowed, gazing around in confusion, before turning his wrist to activate his arm.

Jack didn’t answer. But there was a particularly amusing — and somewhat unnerving — reminder from Timothy to “stretch, drink lots of water, and please, _please_ don’t tell Jack.”

Rhys chuckled as he scanned the message. Timothy hadn’t been what he expected of a Handsome Jack body double. He was remarkably kind-hearted, helpful, and more than a little nervous. On the training floor he proved to be more than adept, but on his own he was surprisingly timid, and definitely afraid of Jack.

After what he’d been through with the Handsome Jackpot lockdown, Rhys couldn’t fault him for being jumpy. Jack — well, the _original_ Jack — had screwed him over without even a word of warning beforehand, and he was expected to just return to work once it was all over.

And what would have happened to Timothy had Rhys not gone to Pandora and found Jack?

Rhys frowned. Timothy’s story just didn’t sit well. Jack’s errant behaviour was not news to him, but he hadn’t seen it directed at someone so clearly undeserving of it before. There’d been glimpses of it on Pandora, moments where Jack’s wilder side got the better of him and he nearly hurt Rhys’ friends, but…

He wasn’t certain where he intended to finish that thought. Rhys, for reasons that were beyond him, found himself desperately searching for excuses for Jack’s behaviour when he knew there were none. At the end of the day, Handsome Jack was a bad person. He was dangerous, unpredictable, and hostile to anyone he didn’t trust. The exact kind of person anyone else would have the good sense to avoid. But despite all this, despite everything he’d been through _because_ of him, Rhys kept searching for a justification for why he was still standing, alone and seemingly forgotten, in his office.

Rhys closed his eyes, quietly recalling their moment in the elevator. Jack had set upon Rhys to take what he wanted, as usual. But that they’d ended up, well… _jacking_ each other off, was enough to set his heart aflame. Jack had been so insistent on touching him, holding him, kissing him, instead of just fucking and leaving him like he’d done in the past.

Rhys’ heart palpated, and he palmed his face with his cybernetic hand.

_Ah, hell._

There was no walking away, and he knew it. Even Timothy remained loyal, after having gone through worse hardships at Jack’s behest. There was just something about the man that kept them close, kept them devoted. And it wasn’t as if he’d ever do anything to hurt _Rhys_. He’d never purposefully put him in harm’s way.

_…right?_

Rhys flinched wildly when the hand against his face chirped. He lowered it, scanning the message that had arrived from Jack.

**Hey Cupcake. Can u grab ECHO off my desk and bring it here. Thnx pmpkn.**

Rhys rolled his eyes.

**THAT'S what you wanted me to do? Didn’t you hire a new PA? Because I think that’s what a PA is for.**

To his surprise, Jack responded almost immediately.

**Nope. U do it. C u soon Legs.**

Rhys uttered a sigh of annoyance, before heading toward the steps nearby. It didn’t take long to find the ECHO log in question. In fact, it was placed rather deliberately at the centre of the desk. Rhys eyed it suspiciously, feeling a remnant anxiety in his shoulders before he plucked it off the surface.

“What are you up to, Jack?”

He left the office, heading for the elevator as he followed Jack’s ping location. The ride didn’t take long, and Rhys realized very quickly where he arrived. The executive meeting room was only a few floors down, with Hyperion guards stationed outside the dual doors. They looked at him only once as he approached, before ignoring him completely. Rhys bristled at this, brushing past them to access the room with his cybernetics.

As the doors slid open, he went still. Every seat was occupied, with Jack at the head of the table, and Blake standing at his side. A few of the executives glanced disinterestedly in his direction, but most of them seemed absorbed in whatever Blake was droning on about, so Rhys quietly moved into the room, doing his best to go otherwise unnoticed as he headed for Jack.

His boss was grinning wolfishly at him, and Rhys tried not to glare daggers at him. He maintained a professional, muted expression as he reached his side, but added a bit of a _shove_ as he thrusted the ECHO into Jack’s hands.

“Here’s what you requested, _sir_.”

“Thanks, cupcake. You’re a peach.” Jack’s mouth turned downward. “Why’re you limping, kiddo?”

Blake came to a stop, and Rhys glanced awkwardly his way. He appeared to be doing his absolute best to ignore his presence, and Rhys couldn’t fault him for it — after the incident in the elevator, it was a miracle that the man hadn’t blabbed to half of Helios. He half wondered if Jack had threatened him into silence afterward, but he likely didn’t even have to, as Blake seemed almost as bizarrely loyal as Timothy.

“Tripped,” Rhys muttered. “I’m fine, sir.”

“Hmm.”

Rhys turned his head to look at anything but Jack, and his gaze snagged on a face pointed his way. Isaac was seated not far down the table, inscrutably watching him, and Rhys felt himself die a little inside.

Because _of fucking course_.

This time when he looked back at Jack, he couldn’t restrain the piercing glare. Jack chuckled audibly, giving Rhys a gentle — but obvious — smack on the ass.

“You can go, pumpkin.”

Rhys stiffened, seething. He closed his eyes, took a breath, and started across the room, hands beginning to ache with the tightness of his fists. He only stumbled to a halt when Isaac got to his feet.

He glanced worriedly at the freckled executive, frozen in place as a very palpable tension arose in the room. Jack had simply leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head, and quietly observed the two. As if he’d been waiting for this. As if he’d _planned_ it. But to Isaac’s credit, instead of lashing out at Rhys, he turned his head toward Handsome Jack.

“I apologize, sir. I must excuse myself,” Isaac spoke calmly, but Rhys could hear a telltale restraint in his voice. “Mister Blake already has my data. I hope that will be sufficient.”

“Got a hot date, Andrews?” Jack quirked an eyebrow at him, to which Isaac’s eyes narrowed ever slightly.

“I’ve received an urgent ping from my department, and I need to be on site to handle it.”

“Fine, fine,” Jack nodded, before smirking sharply. “You know, Rhysie here is a programmer. You need his help with anything?”

Rhys closed his eyes, wishing he hadn’t stopped on his way out the door. What was Jack _doing?_ He gazed cautiously across at Isaac, but the man was pointedly ignoring him.

“I have it handled, sir. Thank you.”

“Alright, fine. On your way, then,” Jack waved him off before lowering his attention back to the table, as if suddenly bored.

Rhys wavered, waiting for Isaac to leave the room.

“Oh, and Rhys?”

He very slowly turned his head, gazing back in question. Jack’s grin had disappeared, replaced only with _intent_ , leaving Rhys to glower at him over his shoulder. “I’m going to need you in my office in about fifteen. Okay, cupcake?”

Rhys nodded stiffly before catching Blake’s stare. This time, it was _his_ turn to give Rhys an apologetic look. He brushed it off, finally making his escape from the boardroom.

But of course, Isaac was still in the hallway when Rhys wandered out. He made the effort to look away as he joined him in waiting for the elevator, and the pair remained silent as the car arrived. When the doors opened, they both paused to mutually regard the small space with disdain, before awkwardly heading inside.

There was a brief moment where Rhys worried if it had been a good idea to get into the cramped space with Isaac, recalling the incident in his office several months before. But thankfully, he kept his distance, seemingly distracted with his tablet. Rhys likewise occupied himself with his cybernetics, pleading silently for the damn elevator to _hurry up._

“Is he treating you well?”

Rhys almost flinched. He glanced at Isaac in question, but the man still pointedly examined the screen in his hands.

“…sorry?”

“Jack,” Isaac answered, sparing him a brief look. “Is he treating you well?”

Rhys considered. “Are we talking professionally, or—”

“You know what I’m asking.”

There was noticeable tension in the man’s voice. Rhys eyed him suspiciously for a moment, before turning away. “We aren’t exactly…”

The elevator car came to a stop, and Rhys fell silent. He cautiously gazed at Isaac once more, then moved to step into the hallway, when he felt his wrist snagged in the other man’s grasp. A surge of fear and loathing shot through him. He knew he should have been calculating a reaction, or going through the hand-to-hand combat he’d practiced with Timothy. But as a second hand gently arrived on his shoulder, there was only one thought that hung heavily in Rhys’ mind.

_He’d never purposefully put me in harm’s way…_

As a quiet betrayal settled over him, Rhys turned his eyes to Isaac, a snarl crossing his lips.

“Let _go_ , Isaac.”

“Rhys…” Isaac’s tone was heavy, bearing a hint of what seemed like concern. “I just need you to be careful, okay? That man is a psychopath.”

Rhys bristled. He pivoted, yanking his wrist free and skirting away from his touch.

“Don’t worry about me, Isaac,” he snapped. “I’ve got plenty of experience dealing with psychopaths.”

Isaac’s eyes narrowed, and the door slid shut between them.

* * *

  
  
When Jack finally strode into his office, Rhys sat unhappily in his massive office chair, glaring listlessly out into space. He’d returned there immediately after leaving the elevator, taking the time to think of all the ways he’d give Jack a piece of his mind.

“Rhysie? How we doin’, pumpkin?”

He no more than grumbled his response, picking at the arm of the chair. Jack soon appeared at his side, kneeling next to him to nuzzle his cheek, and Rhys jerked his head away.

“Kitten,” Jack growled softly. “Talk to me.”

“You did that on purpose,” Rhys snapped. “You planned every moment of that, didn’t you?”

“Rhysie…”

“I was _alone_ with him, and he put his _hands_ on me, and I—”

“You weren’t on your own in there, kiddo. I’d never have risked that.”

Rhys’ eyes widened. He coldly regarded Jack, edging away. “…you were _watching_ …”

“I needed to be sure.” Jack’s answer was both vague and unconvincing at the same time.

“Of _what?”_ Rhys snarled. “That I wouldn’t climb all over my ex in your absence? That I was still your good, obedient little mutt?”

Something flickered in Jack’s expression, and he eased back on his haunches. He stared carefully at Rhys before exhaling his irritation. “This wasn’t about you, cupcake. This was about Andrews knowing his place.”

“This was about you marking your territory, Jack.”

“Rhys—”

“Tell me it wasn’t,” Rhys snorted. He went to turn away, but Jack gently gripped his chin, forcing eye contact between them.

“Kitten,” Jack pressed his forehead against his. “He needed to know.”

“Oh, trust me, I remember,” Rhys hissed. “ _Don’t touch Handsome Jack’s things_.”

“You’re goddamn _right_ , cupcake.”

Rhys wavered, drawing straight as Jack’s tone shifted. A ripple of fear went through his chest, and Rhys blinked slowly as Jack’s lingering stare grew heavy and dark. 

“You see, Rhysie, I haven’t forgotten what that prick tried in his office,” Jack seethed. “But unfortunately, he’s proven to be one of the few competent department heads I have. He’s annoyingly useful. So until that changes, I won’t airlock him. But—”

Rhys flinched as Jack crowded on him, angling his head to breathe heat against his tattoo. “I’ll be _damned_ if he thinks he still has a chance with you. Because if you’ll recall, kitten, you belong to _me_.”

It continued to perplex Rhys with how Jack could have him switching so rapidly between emotional highs. He’d been insistent that on Jack’s return he’d put him in his place, draw a line in the sand. For his own sake, if nothing else. But under the intimidating, possessive, _lovely_ heaviness of Jack’s voice, Rhys melted. He moaned, and simply tipped his head back as Jack set to consuming his mouth.

Jack’s tongue curled around his; Rhys’ eyelids flickered. His fingers looped through Jack’s hair and he arched as hands appeared on his sides, tugging possessively at his hip bones. A shiver ran down his spine as he shifted deeper into the chair, but then Jack moved away. He drew back just far enough to quietly chuckle.

“C’mon, Rhysie,” he hummed against his cheek. “Let’s go get a drink.”

Rhys murmured softly, curling his finger around the grey streak in Jack’s hair. “Something, something, fuck like rabbits?”

He could feel Jack shake with a laugh, before he reached up to palm his cheek.

“Oh babe,” he purred, nipping at Rhys’ lip. “You’re not even gonna remember your name by the end of the night.”

“That’s okay.” Rhys gripped Jack’s lapel, dragging him closer. “I only need to remember _yours_.”

Jack groaned, and almost smothered Rhys beneath his punishing kiss.


	12. Rhysie and Goliath

Rhys awoke to a splitting headache, wincing the pain away as a hangover rocked through his skull. He groaned aloud, writhing at a snag in his shoulder when he realized he’d fallen asleep with his cybernetics still attached. Honestly, not the worst thing that resulted from a night of drinking, but a pain in the ass nevertheless. As he shifted in place, leaning away from the sharp angles of his metal prosthetic, Rhys frowned at the sensation of weight over his abdomen. He groggily opened his eyes in question and fell deadly still.

This was not his bed. This wasn’t even his apartment. But it wasn’t until a soft snore rumbled in the darkness beside him that the entirety of his predicament roared into view. His ECHOeye sparked to life, casting just enough light to barely illuminate the space over them as he dumbly gazed down at Jack’s arm hooked around his midsection.

Careful not to wake the slumbering man at his side, Rhys set his head back down into the pillow, staring in blind shock at the vaulted ceiling overhead. He desperately scrubbed his memory for answers to _how, why, what!?_ , but a gaping black spot permeated his mind. It was somewhere after the third energy drink / vodka combo that he stopped remembering the events of the night before. But there were fleeting moments — touches, nuzzling, and blatant affection that both warmed Rhys’ heart and twisted his guts.

Would Jack remember bringing him here? Hell, even if he did, how would he react upon waking to find Rhys was _still_ in his bed?

As the questions swirled in his mind, Rhys forced himself to pause, and acknowledge that one, glaring fact: he was in Handsome Jack’s bed.

He opened his eyes once more, and for the first time noticed the swirls of purple dancing across the ceiling above. The light was cast from a set of incredibly tall, panoramic windows, not unlike the ones in Jack’s office, that made up a full wall of the bedroom. Beyond the windows, Elpis glowed brightly in the distance, throwing the oddly comforting glow over the room and its simple decor and minimalist furniture. The room itself was somehow both basic and opulent, and completely devoid of any personal touches, which saddened Rhys, but he supposed Jack likely didn’t have much use for the room, seeing as he had a regular habit of falling asleep at his desk. Or maybe this wasn’t actually his bedroom at all, and just a spare room he used for nailing any employee that caught his interest.

Rhys winced inwardly, but didn’t immediately usher the thoughts away. In a way it was healthier to imagine he was nothing more than the flavour of the month — or, well, _months_. He hadn’t been doing a very good job of keeping himself in check, trying to prevent himself from perceiving feelings that could never possibly be real. But regardless of the intention, the idea of it struck deep, and Rhys almost audibly whimpered.

He gazed fondly toward Jack, seeing nothing in the darkness but a ruffle of dark hair backlit by the purple glow. Slowly, and doing his best to feign all the casual grace of someone _sleeping — just sleeping_ , Rhys adjusted himself enough to rest his hand on the forearm that was wrapped around his abdomen. Jack’s grip tightened in response, and a thrill shot from Rhys’ toes to his head as he was pulled closer to the warm embrace, feeling the press of Jack’s bare chest.

Well, that certainly wasn’t helping.

Rhys sighed past the sharp headache he’d almost forgotten, easing back into the comfort of the expansive bed, perfectly content to remain in Jack’s arms until the man woke up and yelled at him to get out.

And then his arm chirped, breaking the utter silence of the dark room.

“Dear _lord_ ,” Jack grumbled, rubbing his face deeper into the duvet. “Rhysie, turn your damn arm off.”

Rhys paled. “Sorry, Jack. I—”

He turned his palm upward in haste, noting the surprising number of messages awaiting him. They were all from Vaughn; his roommate had clearly started to panic when Rhys failed to return home for the night. Rhys grinned, despite a brief flush of shame at having neglected to let him know, and fired away a short, apologetic response. Then he switched to his arm’s settings, and activated night mode.

“You done?”

Rhys glanced at Jack, just barely able to make out the irritated look the man was giving him. He chuckled despite himself.

“Yes. It’s off now.”

“Good. Now go back to sleep.”

Rhys opened his mouth to respond, but Jack was already ignoring him, turning to adjust his position. He bodily shoved Rhys, moving him onto his side, before he tucked in behind him. The entirety of Jack’s body enveloped him, and Rhys shivered with delight at being forced to be the little spoon. Jack soon fell still, seemingly content with his new spot, and something fluttered inside of Rhys.

But before he could trust himself enough to enjoy what was happening, another shrill sound echoed out in the room. This time, however, Jack shot up. He pivoted sharply, cursing as his legs tangled in the sheets, and jumped out of bed to stride across to his watch on the dresser. Rhys remained silent, baffled, as light illuminated the space, bathing Jack’s masked face with a blue glow.

“…friggin’ _idiots_ ,” he snapped, tossing the watch onto the dresser and heading out the door. It was only when he disappeared from the room that Rhys realized he had been wearing nothing but a Hyperion brand of boxer shorts, and he blushed furiously before wriggling under the safety of the covers.

Rhys stared dazedly at the ceiling, at a complete loss. However, he was forced out of his stupor when something _clunked_ against the bedside table, and he turned his head to gaze at the glass of water and a pair of tablets that Jack had set down.

“For your head,” Jack explained, and Rhys turned to see the man was halfway done shuffling into his ridiculous layers of clothing. “Must be pounding, kiddo. How much did you drink last night?”

“I don’t really remember,” Rhys admitted, wincing as he made his way to the edge of the bed. He dropped his feet to the floor, scanning for his own discarded clothes.

“Uh, cupcake? What are you doing?”

Rhys glanced up in alarm to see Jack giving him a blank look. “I’m getting out of your way? It looks like you’ve got somewhere to be—”

“I can handle it here. I’ve got an office down the hall,” Jack gestured dismissively as he returned to pick up his watch. “It’s like, three in the morning, kiddo. What did I tell you? Go back to sleep."

“Uh…”

“I’ll be down the hall,” Jack repeated, stopping at the bedside. He carded fingers through Rhys' hair before pointing insistently toward the water and pills. “Don’t forget those.”

Jack pressed a kiss to his forehead before pivoting and heading out the room, leaving Rhys more than a little stupefied in his wake. Rhys waited for a few minutes in the absolute silence, barely remembering to down the glass of water and tablets. After confirming that Jack wouldn’t be returning anytime soon, Rhys quietly got to his feet in search of a bathroom, and quickly found an amply sized ensuite. He hummed in happy surprise as his toes touched onto heated tiles.

The lights in the bathroom glowed dully at his arrival, as if anticipating his hangover, and Rhys almost murmured his thanks as he used the facilities, before moving to the sink to wash his hands. He paused, groggily gazing at himself in the mirror. It took a few slow blinks for him to notice just what exactly felt _off_ about his reflection.

Except for the mess that was his hair, and the stupid expression that accompanied an overtired, intoxicated brain, Rhys looked unsettlingly unmarred. He leaned forward in mute suspicion to confirm that he was left seemingly unscathed by the previous night. There were hickeys, but they were old — there was no sign of any new clusters of possessive bruising on his neck. None of the telltale indications that he and Jack had come back here to “fuck like rabbits”. They’d simply arrived after an evening of drinking, and passed out in one another’s arms. Rhys stiffened at the realization, which was doing absolutely terrible things to his stomach.

 _No_ , he shook his head, pushing the thoughts away. It was the alcohol talking, whispering promises of a nonexistent reality. And he was most definitely still trashed, if the crooked path that led him back to the bed was anything to go by. Rhys quickly surrendered to it, and to the soft blankets of Jack’s bed, eyes fluttering closed as he eased into the remnant heat of Jack’s shape in the covers. _No, this means nothing_.  
  


* * *

By the next morning, he wasn’t so certain. He had expected to be alone upon waking, but as he opened his eyes, groaning at the simulated morning light of the room, he realized that Jack had returned to his side, and was curled against him once again.

Rhys carefully turned his head, just enough to gaze over his shoulder at Jack’s face. He was sleeping rather peacefully, lips parted and head only half visible amidst his fluffy pillow. As Rhys scanned the lines of his handsome, slender face, he lingered briefly on the clasp on his temple.

He’d previously wondered what was under that mask. Hell, who hadn’t? There were plenty of rumours around Helios as to what Jack hid beneath. Rhys had even heard the suggestion that the face he wore didn’t even remotely resemble his true visage, and it was stolen from someone Jack had killed before he took control of Hyperion.

Rhys had considered asking Timothy if he knew, but quickly shooed away the idea. It was a betrayal to _both_ men. But still… there was a remnant turmoil within Rhys the more he considered his exchanges with Jack. Despite all the time they spent together, everything he knew about him was surface level. He knew his likes and dislikes, what set him off and what triggered their, well, _moments_. Jack was a fairly open book emotionally — because he only really seemed to have four emotions in total — but his past and his motivations were a complete mystery.

“Stop staring.”

Rhys jerked in surprise. Jack’s eyes flickered open, and he gave him a rather irritated look.

“Sorry, I…” Rhys considered. “I just…”

Jack’s mouth curled into a smile. “Hard to look away, isn’t it, cupcake?”

Rhys snorted. “Watch me.”

He turned over, and Jack snickered. In the next moment, he was climbing over Rhys, shoving a pillow into his face.

“How dare you turn away!” he growled. “I am Handsome Jack! Your overlord and supreme commander! Look upon my works and despair!”

Rhys had rolled onto his back, throwing his arms up to shield his head in laughter. But he gave the briefest pause as he caught at the (loose, and only half correct) reference Jack had used, wincing inwardly. Jack seemed to notice his hesitation, and lowered the pillow, but remained in place where he was straddling Rhys.

“Kiddo?”

“Uh.” Rhys rubbed at his eyes, desperate to avert the subject. “So. Did everything go well earlier?”

“Ah.” Jack thumbed at his chin, gazing absentmindedly elsewhere in the room. “S’fine. The Pandora reports came in, and they were…disappointing.”

Rhys shifted under Jack’s weight. “What are you doing on Pandora, exactly?”

“Well, so far, we’ve reclaimed our old facilities. Everything is back up to operating standards, but I don’t want to make a move until we’ve dealt with those idiot Raiders. That Firebitch will do her best to thwart our plans if given the chance.”

Firebitch? _Firehawk_. Rhys swallowed. He’d heard tales of the Siren amongst the Crimson Raiders. She was as dangerous as they come, and brought hell with her wherever she went. There were rumours she’d even been involved with the original Jack’s downfall, which would explain the way Jack’s tone shifted as he spoke of her.

“What has she done to piss you off so much?” Rhys asked carefully, attempting to sound innocent.

“What _hasn’t_ she done? Friggin’ cu—”

Jack closed his mouth. He angled his head toward Rhys, expression darkening.

“What’s it to you?”

“What?”

“Why do you care?” Jack’s eyes narrowed. Rhys shivered.

“Curious, I guess.”

Jack tilted his head to the side, seeming to weigh his answer. But then he shook his head, and climbed off of Rhys. He shuffled to the side of the bed where he proceeded to stretch; Rhys could hear the audible _crack_ of his spine.

“Anyway. I better get down to R&D. They’ve got a couple of new prototypes I’ve been meaning to try out.”

As Jack got to his feet and began to dress, he gazed back at Rhys, eyebrows bouncing in a smirk. “Care to join?”

Rhys activated his eye, wincing as he noticed the time.

“Actually, I was gonna do brunch with Vaughn. Can I take a rain cheque?”

Jack pouted. “Fine. Your loss.”

He pivoted, leaning across the bed toward Rhys. And when he angled his head to meet his, Rhys couldn’t help the sensation of butterflies in his stomach.

“I’ll see you later then, kitten,” Jack murmured softly, before pressing their lips together.

He left the room, and Rhys sighed contentedly. For a moment he leaned back into the bed, relishing the warmth and comfort. But he knew he couldn’t linger long. He was already late.

Rhys closed his eyes, wincing. He hated lying to Jack, but if he really knew where he was going, he was fairly certain he’d have more than a few words to share.

* * *

  
“Get ready. Here they come.”

The console under Timothy’s fingers thrummed with life. His hands rapidly slid across the panel as he adjusted the parameters, lifting his head every so often to glance toward Rhys’ form in the arena below. The cybernetic man was looking around, noting the new layout of the obstacles surrounding him. Preparing, Timothy realized. Planning his defence.

Timothy smiled mischievously, then activated his comm.

“You’re on _offence_ now, kiddo. Time to take down a bandit camp.”

He pressed a button on the console, and the arena was bathed in light. The simulation leapt into shape, forming a number of ramshackle structures and poorly constructed barriers. It offered plenty of cover and vantage points, but more opportunities for him to be jumped from behind.

Rhys hunkered in response, raking his SMG over the battlefield in surprise. Before the simulation had even finished forming, he was dashing into place, taking cover behind a small shack. He pressed his back to it before rechecking his clip, and glancing down to glimpse his grenades and shield. Seemingly satisfied, he quietly peeked out from his spot, and waited.

The camp was quiet at first. They always were. Despite being home to a group of mindless bandits, they were surprisingly peaceful upon first glance. At the centre of the camp was a small fire, below a spit where a roasted skag hung upside down. Otherwise, it almost seemed abandoned. Rhys looked around in confusion. He crept out, gun ready, and moved across to another shack. As he progressed, he stepped a little too close to a cage next to the structure, and an Alpha skag within snapped at the bars.

Rhys stumbled at this, but recovered quickly, sparing the skag only the briefest glance to confirm it was safely locked away, before continuing on to cover. As he braced himself against the wall, he leaned out, and a doorway of the building opposite opened. A marauder walked out, slowly strolling into the camp as he loaded the Tediore pistol in his hands.

When no one else appeared, Rhys shrugged then took aim. He sprayed the marauder with a few bursts, already stepping back under cover before the bandit even hit the ground. Timothy eased back with a smirk as the scene erupted.

A shotgun midget slammed open one of the shack doors, racing out into the camp. Soon after, another marauder appeared, along with a burning psycho. They spread out across the area, but Rhys was nowhere to be seen. Then suddenly a grenade appeared, tossed from behind a makeshift barrier.

It landed just short of the shotgun midget, but close enough to a nearby corrosive barrel. The barrel exploded, covering the bandit with acidic sludge. His high pitched scream was almost deafening, but was not enough to dissuade the flaming psycho from advancing.

He ran mindlessly in Rhys’ direction, flailing about with his fiery weapon. Almost casually, Rhys stepped out from behind the wall, and his bullets struck the psycho in his chest. It didn’t stop him, but he stumbled briefly, long enough for Rhys to disappear behind another row of shacks.

“I'm gonna make hammocks from your eyelids!” the psycho raged as he found his feet.

“Well, fuck _that_.”

Timothy grinned, folding his arms over as he watched Rhys appear again. The psycho seemed taken by surprise as Rhys intercepted him, cracking him over the face with the butt of his gun. As the bandit collapsed onto his back, Rhys paused to shoot down into his head. The blood spatter was gratuitous, but ultimately satisfying, leaving Rhys to cooly move back behind cover as the marauder appeared within range.

“Impressive,” Timothy hummed, quirking an eyebrow.

“Thanks,” came Rhys’ reply, and Timothy blushed upon realizing he hadn’t deactivated his comm.

The marauder was more calculated about his attack. He took cover behind a stack of tires, carefully glancing around the camp. Rhys paused behind a building to reload, then peered between a stack of crates next to it. He seemed to consider the shack he was hiding behind, before he let his gun fall on its sling, and began to scale the structure.

Rhys had kicked his way up onto the roof, pausing to turn over onto his back. He lowered his SMG to the digistruct device on his hip, and it was replaced with a gorgeous Hyperion sniper rifle. Then he was back on his stomach, stealthily training his scope on the bandit as he peered out from over the ledge.

Two rounds made short work of the marauder. Blood and brain matter splattered on the ground behind him, and his body shuddered before it slammed onto the dirt. Rhys snickered, and Timothy almost snorted in response, surprised by his attitude. What had happened to his little programmer overnight?

“How _are_ you!?”

At the sound of the deranged voice, Timothy lifted his head. Far on the other side of the camp, a large bandit had lumbered out from one of the buildings, and was waving a pair of shotguns in the air. Rhys had also spotted him, sighting him in his scope.

“Okay, Rhys. So this is a gol—”

A single, deafening crack indicated a sniper shot. The bandit’s helmet went spinning off, and Timothy froze.

“Well…shit. It was nice knowing you, kiddo.”

Rhys glanced toward the control tower in alarm. When he looked back toward the enemy opposite, it had already discarded its weapons, with blood erupting from its neck. Its skull and spine extended from its shoulders, dancing about in a macabre display, and it lifted its arms in triumphant rage.

“What the _fuck_ is _that?_ ”

“I tried to tell you,” Timothy snickered. “It’s a goliath.”

Rhys either didn’t hear him, or didn’t have the mind to respond. He had already traded his sniper for the SMG, and was climbing down from the building. A jump down wouldn’t have wasted so much time, but Timothy imagined he was still wary following the painful fall the previous day.

The goliath was bumbling down into the camp, making steady progress, and almost seemed to ignore the hail of bullets Rhys sent its way. Rhys crouched briefly, readying a grenade, and lobbed it toward the large man. Again, he aimed for a nearby barrel, and was close enough in proximity to both inflict physical damage and shower the bandit with slag.

Finally, the goliath gave pause. But a strange ripple danced over his frame, which seemed to swell in size, and he again threw his arms in the air in unbridled anger.

“And that,” Timothy hummed into the comm. “Is a _badass_ raging goliath.”

“Tim, come on!”

“Mistake!” the goliath reeled. “Big goddamn mistaaaake!”

Rhys turned on his heel and ran. He raced back toward the entrance of the camp, to where he’d started, not bothering with cover as the unarmed behemoth gave pursuit. As he sprinted, he turned where he could, taking potshots off the goliath to no effect.

“I’m almost out of ammo,” Rhys grunted, voice tight.

“So get creative.”

Rhys paused, assessing the scene. Then he was crouching, and again traded his SMG for the sniper. He lined up a shot, barely moving as the goliath ran his way, and pulled the trigger.

The lock on the nearby cage exploded. In the next instant, the Alpha skag slammed out, roaring its freedom. Then it promptly barrelled into the goliath. The two were locked in desperate battle, and blood spattered against the dirt around them. Rhys made his way past, careful not to draw attention as he ran to the fallen bandits. Timothy watched with pride as Rhys recovered ammo and drew out his SMG to slap a new clip into place.

Behind him, the goliath gave a blood curdling roar. It lifted the skag into the air, then viciously tore its head from its body. Timothy whistled, setting his hands on the console.

“Rhys, you better—”

The cybernetic man had already dropped to his knee, and began his assault. He unloaded the entire clip into the goliath’s back, not stopping until there was a distinct _click, click, click_ of an empty gun. The goliath wavered, stumbled, then hit the dirt.

Timothy briefly eased back in astonishment. Who would have thought the little programmer had it in him?

Despite the victory, Rhys didn’t relax. He was already replacing his ammo with another round of looting, and was scanning the area. He seemed to ripple with uncertainty. The bandits were gone, but the simulation remained.

It was time. Timothy tugged on his helmet before descending into the arena. He kept close to the walls of the shacks, limiting his pauses to the shadows. More than once he had to stop himself from darting out, as Rhys minded his words and cast a suspicious look in his general direction. He smirked, then crouched, biding his time as Rhys headed his way.

When Rhys finally got close enough, stepping alongside the shack, Timothy snapped an arm out, striking him in the chest. Rhys fumbled, giving Tim the chance to disarm him; the SMG went clattering across the ground. To his credit, Rhys quickly regained his composure, and threw his arms up to block Timothy’s strikes, but he was off balance.

“Shit,” Rhys spat, sinking onto his back leg. Timothy chuckled. He pulled the dull blade from his back, and leapt forward— only to be halted in place by the prod of an outstretched stun baton.

He froze, eyes wide. But it did not ignite; Timothy sagged in relief.

“Thank you,” he muttered, and Rhys gave him a catlike grin.

“Like I said,” he laughed, breathless. “I’m a pro with this thing…”

“You’d think I would’ve expected it. After yesterday…” he blinked. “Kiddo. You did _great_.”

Rhys smiled shyly and lowered the baton. Timothy took a step back and offered a hand, pulling Rhys onto his feet.

“That was…”

“Pretty spectacular,” Timothy admitted. He hooked an arm around Rhys’ shoulders, leading him toward the locker room. “You dropped a _goliath_. Where the hell did that come from, pumpkin?”

“Not sure,” Rhys chuckled. “I just needed to get some frustration out, I guess.”

As they moved into the locker room, Rhys stepped away to set down his SMG. Timothy leaned against the table.

“Frustration?”

“Yeah,” Rhys sighed, dropping onto the bench. “It’s nothing. Never mind.”

Timothy’s eyebrow drifted upward. “So…how’d things go upstairs?”

“Hectic as always,” Rhys rolled his eyes as he removed his helmet. “The turret is almost ready to ship. I passed a copy down to R&D and they’re putting together a finalized prototype. Feels kind of strange to give it to someone else to polish, but Jack has me so busy playing assistant that I’m kind of fine with it…”

At Timothy’s silence, Rhys paused, gazing in his direction.

“What?”

“Not really what I meant, kiddo.”

Rhys again flushed, lifting a hand to adorably conceal his face.

“It’s—” he sighed, gazing away. “I don’t know. It’s Jack. It’s…something? I don’t even know.”

“He hides more than his face behind that mask.”

Rhys’ expression flickered at this, but he simply shrugged. “He keeps me around often enough that I know he at least enjoys my company. And then there’s the fleeting moments, you know? The lingering touches… the looks that almost seem _affectionate_. But I just…”

He gestured in the air, and Timothy frowned.

“And I _know_ we’re not a thing — I know it’s stupid to _hope_ for a thing. He’s Handsome Jack for crying out loud. I mean, does he even date…”

Rhys’ head snapped up and he glanced at Timothy.

“ _Does_ he date?”

“Well,” Timothy rubbed his neck. “I guess? I mean he _has_ , but… Jack’s not really…”

Rhys winced, glancing away. After a beat of silence, he palmed his face.

“You must think I’m an idiot.”

“No, Rhys, I…” Timothy sighed. “Well, maybe. But it’s not your fault. We can’t always help who we love.”

Rhys flinched.

“…I didn’t say…I mean…I don’t…”

Timothy tilted his head. “Don’t what, kiddo?”

“I…” Rhys’ eyes flickered about the room, and he almost started to shake. “I mean…”

_Okay._

Kicking off from where he leaned, Timothy shook his hands in the air, cracking his neck. He lengthened his posture, then set his hands on his hips, cocking an eyebrow to match his sharp smirk. Rhys seemed to notice his peculiar behaviour, and was eyeing him suspiciously, but it was only when Timothy advanced toward him with a predatory gait that he finally realized what he was doing.

“C’mon, pumpkin,” Timothy hummed in his very Jack-like voice. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

“Tim…” Rhys’ voice lowered in warning. He stood up, and Timothy ignored him, reaching forward to palm his cheek.

“It’s just you and me now, Rhysie,” he murmured, stroking at Rhys’ jaw. The younger man shivered beneath his touch. “What’s on your mind?”

Rhys hesitated, staring warily at Timothy. For a moment, Tim worried his efforts were wasted, and somewhat embarrassing, but then Rhys relented with a sigh, pressing into his touch.

“I just…” he whimpered. “I wish you’d open up…”

“Oh?” Timothy tilted his head. “About what, kitten?”

“I want you to lean on me,” Rhys closed his eyes, brow knit together. “I want you to rely on me when you’re stressed. I want you to come to me for comfort. I want you to tell me about the things that weigh you down. I want…”

Rhys moved forward, and Timothy opened his arms as the younger man pressed his face to his chest. 

“I don’t want you to just _want_ me anymore. I want you to _need_ me, Jack.”

Timothy froze. He stared down at Rhys, suddenly uncomfortable with what he’d done. His hands twitched as he considered wrapping his arms around his lanky shoulders, but as he began to reach up, motion in his peripherals snagged his attention.

Timothy’s head spun in alarm, eyes catching on Jack where he stood in the doorway. His expression was tight as he watched the pair, gaze flickering from Rhys’ bent form to Timothy’s face.

“Well don’t you two look cozy.”

Rhys leapt, crying out in surprise at Jack’s voice. He staggered back, pushing free from Timothy’s hold.

“Jack!” he yelped. “I, uh, this isn’t—”

“Isn’t _what_ , cupcake?” Jack’s eyes narrowed. He pushed off from the doorway, advancing on Rhys, and Timothy found himself seriously considering the SMG on the table.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Timothy offered. “I was only—”

“Shut up,” Jack snapped, sparing Tim the briefest glance before returning his attention to Rhys. He backed him up, effectively caging him in as he placed his hands on the wall on each side of his head. “Tell me, _Rhysie_. Why are you on a restricted floor? And why the hell are you wearing trooper gear?”

Rhys quivered beneath Jack’s larger form. “…I asked Tim to train me… I just… I just wanted to feel safe.”

Jack stiffened. “Safe?”

“You saw me on Pandora,” Rhys murmured, lowering his head. “I was pathetic. And then with Isaac… I just… I wanted to be…”

As Rhys pressed a hand to his face, rubbing tears from the corner of his eyes, Jack’s demeanour shifted. His posture eased, and his expression softened. Timothy watched in amazement as his boss leaned forward to gently fold his arms around Rhys’ waist.

“You don’t need to fight, kitten,” he chided, then pressed his face into Rhys’ hair. “That’s what you have me for.”

Jack’s hand near Rhys’ cheek moved, some gesture out of Timothy’s range of sight, and suddenly the younger man went limp. As Rhys curled his hands around Jack’s neck, crumpling against him, Timothy stepped back, moving toward the door. He was suddenly intruding, and it was time to leave.

“Tim.”

He halted at Jack’s voice. Stealing a breath, Timothy slowly turned to find Jack watching him. He still held Rhys against his chest, but was levelling a heavy glare Tim’s way.

“Tomorrow. Noon. My office.”

Timothy swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now scram.”

He skirted out of the room, almost stumbling in his haste to flee. There’d been plenty of times where he was the focus of Jack’s ire, but he was gripped by a new level of fear regarding their upcoming meeting. He had never seen Jack so protective, never seen such a piercing gaze from those mismatched eyes. The heat that had emanated from his posturing could’ve melted the mask off his face.

Timothy shuddered as he walked, glancing over his shoulder one last time. It was difficult to dwell on what Jack had in store for him, after witnessing the exchange between him and Rhys. He fully understood Rhys’ frustration now — Jack was certainly treating him like more than just an employee.

He was left with at least one reassurance, however. Jack wasn’t alone after all.

* * *

Jack glared daggers at the open doorway until he confirmed Timothy had left for good. Then he folded himself around Rhys, where the younger man was still buried against his chest. Through their embrace, he could feel the ripple of shivers coursing through him. Jack’s heart thudded painfully, and he stared hopelessly at Rhys for a moment, before pressing his face into his hair.

“Take a breath,” he instructed. “I’m not mad.”

“You aren’t?”

“Trust me, kiddo,” he chuckled. “You’ll know when I’m mad…”

Well, shit. That was supposed to sound more reassuring. Jack growled lightly to himself, then reached up to card fingers through Rhys’ hair, which at least seemed to help. Rhys lifted his head, gazing softly up at him, and Jack scanned his face with a snort.

“You look like a kicked puppy, Rhysie.”

This, too, had the desired effect. Rhys’s eyes narrowed; his worried frown turned into a tight pout.

“I do _not_.”

Aw, look at the puppy,” Jack teased, rubbing his head. “He thinks he’s human.”

Rhys whined, grabbing Jack’s wrist. He leaned back against the wall, and Jack stumbled, throwing a hand up for stability. Rhys laughed softly beneath him, before cautiously meeting his stare.

“I’m sorry…” he mumbled. “I should have told you.”

“Yes. You should have.” Jack gently gripped his chin. “Because if we’re going to be a team, kiddo, I need you to be completely honest with me.”

Rhys’ eyes edged wide.

“Now. Anything else you’d like to admit before we get the hell out of here?”

“I…” Rhys noticeably hesitated, lowering his head. “…no. I think you know the rest.”

Jack eased back in minor suspicion. But as Rhys leaned against him, tucking perfectly into his chest, Jack was fine to let it go.

For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ["Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!"](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/46565/ozymandias) \- you know, if you were curious about the quote that Jack got wrong.
> 
> And _oof,_ Jack is turning into a bit of a softie.


	13. Not a Psychopath…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because you're all great and I love you, here is Chapter 13 a little early.
> 
> You're welcome, kiddos.

“Alright, sweet cheeks. I’m going to need you to repeat that, nice and slow. Got me?”

Timothy shifted his weight uncomfortably between his feet, noticeably avoiding eye contact as he stood before Jack’s desk. His response was not forthcoming, but Jack was willing to wait, holding his ever growing impatience at bay. He lounged in his chair, well aware that his unmoving form fully exuded his current mood. Hence the quiet pause.

“There’s no one,” Timothy said at last, lifting his head. “The search was unsuccessful.”

Jack’s nostrils flared; he leaned into his tented fingers. “Are you really telling me that there are no mercenaries available in the _entirety_ of the galaxy willing to work for the money that we can provide?”

“Well, there _were_ a number of potential candidates,” Timothy shrugged, gesturing to the assortment of ECHOs he’d scattered across the desk. “But as soon as they realized who they would be working for…”

Tim shut his mouth right when he very well should have. Jack glared heavily across at him, quietly weighing Timothy’s admission against his already frayed restraint. Casting a brief glance to the discarded pile of ECHOs, he pointedly cracked his knuckles before pushing onto his feet and striding across to the vast windows of his office.

“Perhaps, if we operate under a certain _anonymity,”_ Timothy suggested carefully, remaining where he stood with the desk separating them. “There are plenty of agents willing to ignore where the money is coming from if there’s enough of it.”

“No,” Jack snapped, eyebrows perfectly arched. “I’m looking for loyalty. The kind of people who would die for me if I asked it of them.”

He didn’t notice when Timothy went silent. And had he deigned to look his way, he would’ve caught his double staring mournfully at the downturned image of Angel on the desk.

“I can’t take back this damn planet without a reliable team,” Jack grunted, tightly gripping his wrist behind his back. “You need to keep looking.”

“Jack, I’ve already exhausted our resources,” Timothy sighed. “You— _Hyperion_ carries a warning for Vault Hunters. Even the ones who aren’t interested in Lilith’s shitty little club won’t touch us. And loyalty…it’s not something that can just be bought and paid for. It takes a time to forge that bond.”

Jack stiffened. He pressed a hand to his chest, frowning at the strange palpation of his heart.

“…how do you trust someone not to betray you?” he hummed, turning enough to carefully gaze across at his double. “After all the shit we’ve been through?”

Timothy’s expression flickered. “Trust is a two way street, Jack. You have to prove you’re worthy of it.”

And there it was.

Jack squared off with Timothy, folding his arms. The double did not move.

“You got something to say, cupcake?”

“Yeah,” Timothy nodded, drawing his shoulders back. “I almost _died_ at the casino, Jack.”

Jack’s eyes edged wide. He moved forward a few steps, dropping a hand to stroke at the Vision on his hip. And still, Timothy did not relent. He almost seemed bolstered by the reaction, resolute enough to dare to stare straight back at Jack.

“Do you know what comes with the type of loyalty and trust that you demand?” Timothy’s voice grew taut. “Love. You don’t stick by a person’s side through all of this _bullshit_ without loving them first. Now just stop for a damn second and look at what you’ve done to the people you have claimed to love.”

Jack's jaw tightened. A fresh wave of fury washed over him, but his first instinct was not that of retaliation, or correction. He was caught by the look on Timothy’s face — _his_ face — which rooted him in place.

Because even Jack could admit he wasn’t wrong.

Wilhelm and Nisha were understandable losses. Their sacrifices, while certainly _attributable_ to Jack, were also due to personal risks taken by the two. They knew what they were doing. And they _enjoyed_ it — they were fated to die in a firefight regardless of how it was orchestrated.

But Angel…

Something very interesting had happened when Jack had stumbled across the video footage of Angel’s death. It had afforded him a peculiar outside perspective as he watched himself literally stepping over his own daughter’s body to continue on his warpath. His initial reaction was similar: _kill, destroy, revenge revenge revenge._ But long after the former version of himself had disappeared with Lilith, after Roland had gone cold and the group of Vault Hunters had abandoned the Control Core, he continued to watch the video feed. It rolled on and on, for hours, until finally, _eventually_ , his former self returned to collect Angel. He carefully cradled her in his arms for a brief moment before leaving the scene for good.

While he watched and rewatched the footage, all he wanted to do was grab his living self and wring sense into him. To force him to look at Angel’s body, to show him what he’d done, to scream _“this was_ your _doing!”_ Not just Zer0’s. Not Lilith’s or Roland’s. It was what Handsome Jack had done to his own daughter that he carried with him now.

Jack stiffened at the realization. He slowly lifted a hand, tracing a finger beneath his eye to sweep away the tear etching its way down his mask. Not far away, Timothy watched in abject misery, and something akin to awe, as the two stood in absolute silence.

After a long, heaving breath, Jack returned to his throne. He sank into its depths, staring unseeing past his desk and into the darkness of his looming, empty office.

“So what now?”

Timothy carefully sat in his own chair, attention ever lingering on Jack.

“…we reassess,” Jack deftly nodded.

“Can I ask why you’re even bothering with Pandora?” Timothy tilted his head. “The Warrior is gone, right?”

Jack snorted. “There’s much more to that shithole planet than the Warrior…but—”

_He may be right._

“So what’s important to you, Jack? _Who_ is important to you?”

For some strange reason, Rhys’ face flickered in his mind. He furrowed his brow, failing to control his thoughts as they strayed to the night when he had carried a very inebriated Rhys back to his penthouse only to fall asleep at his side. In the early hours of the following morning, when he had been awoken by the sound of Rhys’ ECHO, and he was sober and _himself_ , his first reaction had been annoyance. Who was in _his_ bed disturbing _his_ slumber? But then he noticed the wonderful warmth of the form tucked in at his side. He revelled in the apple shampoo scent of Rhys’ hair, and his adorable attempt to subtly shuffle closer to Jack beneath the blankets.

Wait, what was he—

Jack lifted his head, feeling a pulse of anger. Timothy was staring intently at him, as if gauging his response. At this, his lips curled into a distinct snarl.

“How _dare_ you.”

Timothy sagged. “Jack…”

“What do you think you’re doing?” Jack snapped, suddenly back on his feet. “First, you take it upon yourself to encourage Rhys toward _danger_ , and now… Who the hell do you think you are?”

“I’m all you have left!” Timothy snarled, bizarrely quick to meet the challenge. “Take a good look, Jack. It’s just you and me now. The others either left you, or are _dead_. But I’m still here.”

“All I have left?” Jack slammed his fist onto the surface directly before Timothy, causing the doppelgänger to jump. “If you're so devoted, _Timmy_ , then why did I walk in on you with _my_ Rhys in _your_ _goddamn arms_ _?”_

Timothy froze in place, seemingly stunned as Jack rounded the desk to advance on his body double.

“Nothing to say for yourself? Or were you hoping I’d forgotten about your little cuddle session?” His voice was tight, drawn thin. He snagged Timothy’s lapels and drew him onto his toes, snarling into his face. “Was that your way of _being there for me?”_

Timothy stared blankly at Jack, lips opening and closing. Then he sagged within his grasp, pressing a hand to his face.

“For fuck’s _sake_ , Jack, _yes._ I was trying to help you. To help Rhys,” he shook his head. “You didn’t even hear what he was saying, did you?”

Jack did not respond, but his grip did not relax. At his silence, Timothy dropped his hand to rest it on Jack’s wrist.

“I was pretending to be _you_ , Jack,” Timothy muttered. “Because he needed it. Because he needed to say something.”

“He could’ve said it to _me_.”

“No, Jack. He couldn’t have. Because you’re blind to it.” Timothy tensed within Jack’s grasp, as if bracing himself. “…and if you could put your goddamn ego aside for a minute, you’d see that he is _trying_ to love you, but all you can focus on is a dead man’s revenge.”

Timothy’s head snapped back with the impact of Jack’s fist. He staggered, then fell onto his ass on the floor. He threw a hand to his face in surprise, fingers running over the distortion Jack’s punch had left in his mask, before glancing up in alarm.

The looming shape that was Jack’s form was rigid. He was unmoving, fists tight and eyes aflame as he stood over Timothy.

“Tim…” he hissed, just audible enough to set Timothy on edge. “Get. The hell. _Out_.”

Almost immediately, Timothy scrambled to his feet. He backed away, gaze held on Jack’s intense frame for another few seconds before he turned to move down the stairs and toward the exit.

Even after he’d gone, Jack did not move. It took him a moment or two to realize he was panting, breath drawn thin. He lifted his hand, surprised to find his pistol held tightly in his grip. He blanched, then holstered it, and begrudgingly marched back to his chair, grasping the armrests in a futile attempt to quell the storm inside his head.

He wanted to be furious.

But he wasn’t.

His fingers twitched with the desire to wring Timothy’s presumptuous neck.

But he never could have.

He wanted a very great many things. But instead, he settled for closing his eyes, before sinking back into his lonely, cold throne.

And all he could see was Rhys’ face. His stupid little pout. Those utterly ridiculous socks. His tempting, entrancing tattoos.

With an exasperated hiss, Jack snapped his eyes back open. They quickly landed on the downturned frame at the corner of his desk. A vice-like grip tightened on his heart; he spun around in his seat. There, he was assaulted with the half view of Elpis, and a fresh tingle went through the scar beneath his mask.

Jack groaned in surrender, leaning in to palm his face. He was confronted on all sides, despite being completely alone in his office.

He knew what this feeling was, as he slowly traced the metal pins that kept his eyelids in place. It was _remorse_. And it was beginning to follow Jack like an old friend.

Timothy was right. About _everything._ And it might’ve taken Jack’s own death and subsequent AI resurrection for him to finally realize that, but here it was. The moment of truth.

All he felt was that gnawing, thick, _suffocating_ remorse.

And, well…something else.

Jack lifted his head. Then he gazed down, focusing his blurred vision on the glow of his watch.

* * *

“Been a while.”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“S’okay,” Vaughn sighed, slipping into the corner of the booth. “I guess.”

Rhys winced, staring hard at his bro. Then he slowly dropped into his own seat, gazing absentmindedly around the bar. A few of the other patrons noticeably looked away after meeting his eyes, but he did his best to ignore it, commonplace as it was nowadays. At least they left him alone.

“How’s the turret?”

Vaughn stared at his menu as if he hadn’t asked the question. Rhys shrugged.

“R&D sent up a report this morning. Apparently it’ll be ready to ship within the week,” Rhys almost smiled. “They’re going to limit it to Hyperion troops at first. Get it on the front lines, make a big show of it. And when the market shows its interest, they’ll open up sales.”

“Wow,” Vaughn lifted his head, eyebrows visible over his glasses. “Really?”

“Yeah…” Rhys allowed himself to smile. “Crazy, right? Didn’t know I had it in me.”

“I did.”

Rhys looked across at Vaughn in surprise. He had placed the menu onto the table, and was quietly scratching at his cheek. “You’ve always had that drive. I knew you’d get there.”

“I…” Rhys exhaled softly. “Thanks, Vaughn.”

As the mixture of tension and awkwardness that was their lunch hour seemed to peak, the two pointedly looked away for a moment. Rhys glanced about in vain for a server, only for a sharp pain to shoot up his neck. He stiffened, made a face, and reached up to rub away the tightness in his muscles, groaning a complaint.

“You okay?” Vaughn asked, ever watchful.

“Yeah,” he laughed. “I talked one of Jack’s operatives into teaching me a few things. It has been… _tough_. I’m discovering muscles I didn’t know existed. And they _hurt_.”

Vaughn’s mouth dropped open. “No way. What kinds of things?”

“Well, you remember Athena? With Fi?”

“Are you telling me you have a badass Vault Hunter teaching you how to fight?”

“Something like that,” Rhys chuckled, feeling a swell of ego. “We started with a bit of combat. But then he put me in this holographic simulation. Bandits, guns, ‘nades. The whole deal. Seriously, bro. It felt like I was back on Pandora again.”

Vaughn’s expression glinted with interest. He leaned forward, setting his chin into his hands.

“Seriously. Tell me.”

“Well,” Rhys paused in thought. “Have you heard of a goliath?”

“Yes. Yes I have. I completely, one hundred percent have.”

Rhys chuckled. “Well… I took one on. I mean, it was simulated, but…felt pretty real. Scared the shit out of me when his head did that popping thing.”

“Did it like—” Vaughn waved his arms in the air, and Rhys burst out laughing.

“Yeah! What the heck is that!?” he sat back, clutching his abdomen. “And the _things_ they shout. I was genuinely worried about my meat suit, bro.”

“Bandits are awesome, bro. Makes me wish I—”

A sharp chirp from Rhys’ arm interrupted the exchange. Vaughn abruptly paused where he was leaning over the table, and sank back, expression flickering dejectedly. Rhys winced his apologies, then answered the call.

“Hey, kitten,” Jack’s voice was surprisingly gentle; even Vaughn lifted his head. “Where are you? Your office is empty.”

“I went to lunch,” Rhys shrugged. “Sorry. I didn’t expect you to be free so soon.”

“No, it’s fine. You’re right, I wasn’t supposed to finish until later.”

“Can I do something for you? Bring you a sandwich, or—”

“Thanks, Rhysie, but I’ll be fine,” Jack uttered. “Take your time. But when you’re done… come see me, if you can. We should chat.”

“Uh…” Rhys sat straight. “Yeah, definitely. I’ll be there in a while, okay?”

Jack ended the call, likely unaware of the shock he left in his wake. Rhys stared at the table. He felt his smile widen as he sat there, revelling in the exchange, but before he could enjoy it too much, Vaughn abruptly pushed to his feet.

“…Vaughn?”

He didn’t respond immediately. When he lifted his head to look at Rhys, the look on his face was somewhere between anger and worry. And immediately, Rhys felt defensive, because he knew exactly what it meant.

“I _hate_ him,” Vaughn seethed. “I _hate_ Jack.”

This actually had Rhys staring in amazement. He’d never seen Vaughn so angry.

“Why?” he snapped. “This might be a chance for me to be happy, Vaughn. Why are you so opposed to that?”

“Because of precisely _this_ , Rhys,” Vaughn mumbled. “Because he manipulates you. Because he has you thinking that he _cares_ about you. Because he has you convinced that there’s any possible future with _Handsome Jack_ that doesn’t end in pain.”

Rhys sat back, speechless. Vaughn hung his head.

“I can’t do this anymore, bro. I can’t protect you from something that you keep running back to. And you’re right — it’s _not_ my place to protect you from it. I do it because I love you, bro.” Vaughn spoke quickly, voice tight with emotion. “But I’m done. I can’t do this anymore. You’re on your own.”

Before Rhys managed to pick his jaw up off the floor, Vaughn was moving away from the table. He paused briefly, long enough to gaze back at Rhys with a look that seemed almost mournful.

“You know what this is, Rhys?” he asked. “This me being left out on the curb.”

“Vaughn…”

“Enjoy your life with that psychopath,” Vaughn turned his back. “At least, whatever’s left of it.”

Rhys remained frozen in place until Vaughn disappeared. He stared unblinking, unseeing, and utterly unaware of the curious heads that turned his way. All he could focus on was the painfully hollow sensation that Vaughn’s absence had left in his chest.

“He’s…” Rhys whimpered, then palmed his face. “…he’s not a psychopath.”

* * *

Was the elevator ride to Jack’s office always this long? Rhys stared hard at the scrolling numbers overhead, as if glaring at them somehow compelled them to move faster. He shifted between leaning his shoulder into the wall, folding his arms across his chest, and wringing his hands in nervousness. By the time the door finally decided to open, he was bent against the wall of the car, face pressed into the cold metal of his prosthetic where it was braced beneath him.

Why the hell was this so complicated? He was effectively being torn in multiple directions, and between his kinship with Vaughn, his newfound friendship with Timothy, and his blind devotion to Jack, he no longer felt as if he stood on solid ground. It was the most confused he had ever felt. And it just wasn’t _fair._ Why couldn’t he just be _happy?_

No matter what Vaughn said, he knew Jack cared about him, in one way or another. Rhys had done his damnedest to deny it for a long time, but the whirlwind events of the last few days had left little to reject. Jack _needed_ him now. He _meant_ something.

Right?

Rhys paused at the doors to Jack’s office, swallowing away his unease. And as he pushed his way inside, he noticed that, for once, Jack was immediately looking his way. He even seemed to _relax_ at his arrival, sinking back into his chair.

Nothing was said as he moved past the giant busts and proceeded to climb the stairs. Even when he arrived at the side of Jack’s desk, he had not been able to summon any words. Jack turned, giving him a strange look as Rhys hesitated at a distance.

“Heya, Rhysie,” Jack hummed, voice curling in a contented lull. Rhys was almost taken aback by the potency of Jack’s tone, as he hovered at arm’s reach with lingering trepidation from Vaughn’s words.

Jack _wasn’t_ manipulating him…right?

He lowered his head. “Hi.”

Seeming to frown at the distance between them, Jack leaned forward to gently grip Rhys’ wrist and show him the rest of the way. Rhys couldn’t help but smirk as he was manhandled, to the point where he somehow ended up sitting sideways in Jack’s lap, with his long legs draped over the side of the chair. The older man gingerly wrapped his arms around Rhys’ waist to pull him close, nuzzling into his neck.

Rhys blinked. He cautiously eased into the embrace, breathing softly as Jack took to gently rubbing circles into his back. In his peripherals, he watched Jack lean into him to take deep breaths before pressing into his shoulder. A few minutes of this stretched on, before Rhys summoned the courage to reach up and brush his palm along Jack’s jawline.

“Is everything okay, Jack?” he asked quietly, delighting in the sensation of Jack tracing his tattoo with the tip of his nose. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Jack insisted with a hum, tugging him close. “Not a damn thing.”

Flush with heat, Rhys shut his mouth. He happily surrendered to the tug of Jack’s arms, as the older man inadvertently began to fill the void that Vaughn had left in his chest.

“How’d it go with—”

“Hush, kitten,” Jack moved his forehead into the crook of Rhys’ neck, remaining there. His fingers found his ducktail of hair and played with it, and before long Rhys felt them brush against his earlobe. He nearly moaned, eyes flickering shut as Jack played at his erogenous zone. Within the span of a few minutes, his heartbeat slowed, his eyes fell half lidded, and the pair of them sat happily in silence, almost asleep in each other’s arms.

Jack purred beneath him, then cleared his throat; Rhys felt the bob of it against his shoulder.

“There’s something we need to discuss…”

Rhys tensed, but didn’t otherwise move. He hummed his response, careful not to pull away from the comforting hold Jack had on him.

“It’s something that has been at the back of my mind for awhile. I just need to…”

The interface on Jack’s desk chirped loudly; they simultaneously growled their annoyance. This seemed to happen peculiarly often. It took a few seconds for either of them to move, but then Jack was unwinding from Rhys and he leaned back to let him reach forward and stab at the panel.

“What now?” Jack grumbled, and Rhys chuckled.

“Sir, there’s a call for you,” the woman explained in a quiet voice. “CEO of Maliwan.”

Rhys frowned, lifting his head to scan Jack’s face. Jack looked back at him, brow furrowed.

“And what does that moron want?”

“He didn’t say sir. Just that he wants a face to face. Uh. Screen to face. Sir.”

Jack rolled his eyes, then patted Rhys’ leg. On cue, Rhys begrudgingly hopped out of his lap, moving just far enough to step past the view of the camera on the holoscreen. Jack looked at him once, as if confirming he didn’t go far, before pushing back into his chair. He hooked an ankle over his knee and laced his fingers behind his head, leaning back.

Rhys smirked. _Casual dominance looks good on you, Jack._

“Alright, cupcake. Connect the call.”

He wasn’t sure why, but Rhys was holding his breath when the screen lit up. The Maliwan CEO was a stern looking older man, with dark hair that was just a little grey at his temples. Despite the hardness of his expression, he had a wide, catlike grin that seemed to stretch even wider as he scanned over Jack with narrow eyes.

“Katagawa,” Jack’s voice was restrained, a tightness Rhys could only detect now that he’d spent so much time with the man. “It has been some time.”

“Indeed…” the Maliwan CEO carefully scrutinized Jack. “And I must say, this is a surprise.”

“How so?” Jack eased back in his seat. “I’m pretty sure _you_ called _me_ , cupcake.”

“Oh, I did indeed. I had to see you for myself. After all, your supposed _death_ at the hands of _Pandoran bandits_ was all anyone could talk about for some time…”

Rhys stiffened, glancing sharply at Jack. Luckily, he was better at this than Rhys, and managed to school his expression. Jack released his hands from his head, folding them across his chest.

“Do I _look_ dead, Maliwan?”

“You don’t.” There was palpable disappointment in his response. “Very interesting.”

“Was there any other reason you called?” Jack hissed. “Or are you purposefully trying to waste my time?”

“Don’t be offended, Jack. I just wanted to be sure,” Katagawa gestured casually, seeming suddenly bored. “Important to keep tabs on the competition, you know. A job my _son_ should have been doing…”

There was movement in the background, and from where Rhys stood, he could just make out the man lingering not far behind Katagawa. He was even younger than Rhys, standing rigid and attentive. The family resemblance wasn’t difficult to see, but there was little warmth between the two.

“It’s cute that you consider Maliwan to be _competition_ ,” Jack snorted. “So now that you’ve seen me, are you _appeased?_ Or do I need to moonshot a couple crates of our superior product at your headquarters to prove that Hyperion is in capable hands?”

“I am, indeed. It’ll be far more entertaining to watch her be destroyed at the behest of a psychopath, than simply crumble away in the wake of your absence…”

This time, Jack did stiffen. His expression hardened, casting deep shadows in the lines of his mask as he leaned forward.

“I’ll be cold and six feet under long before the day Maliwan manages to outpace Hyperion,” Jack seethed.

“Oh, I know,” Katagawa retorted. “But I’m fairly certain you already _are_.”

The call winked out, leaving a deafening silence ringing in the room. Jack blinked at the screen. His expression cycled through a number of nondescript phases, before he sank back into his chair, head tilted as he seemingly mulled over the call. He did not look angry, but he certainly wasn’t settled following the tense exchange.

This was Handsome Jack unhorsed, and it left Rhys feeling protective. His fingers twitched with inaction, wanting to reach forward and hold the other man. But again — this was Handsome Jack. So instead, he remained in place, quietly waiting for Jack’s brain to reboot.

The seconds stretched into minutes, and Jack yet stared at the empty surface of his desk.

“Uh…” Rhys tried with a swallow. “What was it you wanted to talk about, Jack?”

Jack lifted his head to look through Rhys, as if surprised that he was still there. He shrugged, waving a hand through the air. “Oh, uh…nothing. Never mind.”

Rhys visibly sagged. Whatever Jack had been intending to say before Katagawa’s interruption seemed serious. Heavy. Like it was something Rhys was _meant_ to hear. He sighed at the loss, turning to move to the seat on the other side of the desk.

Jack at last managed to tear himself from his stupor, angling toward the windows. He pushed to his feet, crossing to glare at the moon below before setting to pace. His erratic, irritated behaviour set Rhys on edge.

“Everything okay, Jack?”

The other man grumbled a non-response, shoving his hands into his pockets. Rhys was hesitant to pry, worrying at his lower lip with his teeth.

“...called me a psychopath.”

Rhys lifted his head very slowly, feeling his gut twist. _That seems to be going around a lot, lately_.

“You know that psychopaths don’t feel remorse, right?” Jack asked while continuing to pace, but did not elaborate.

“You...” Rhys paled, shifting in his seat. “Jack, that was _Maliwan_. You can’t—”

“You think it’s just Katagawa, huh?” Jack hissed, glancing sharply at him. “You don’t think I know what my own people say about me?”

Rhys sat up, staring hard at Jack. At this, Jack snarled, pointedly turning away.

“Don’t you people understand what it takes to run this place?” Jack threw his arms up in the air. Rhys bristled, initially taken aback by the accusation, but quickly realized he wasn’t talking to him anymore. “The sacrifices that need to be made? The obstacles and the digging and the clawing and the fighting? I am a _hero_ , goddamn it, and what do they call me!?”

Handsome Jack turned and faced Rhys, expression cold. “A _psychopath_.”

Rhys wasn’t sure how, but he was suddenly at Jack’s side. He gripped his lapels, tugging him forward, and Jack’s face contorted with suspicion.

“You’re the lifeblood of this space station, Jack,” he hissed. “You’re the brick and mortar of Helios. Katagawa was right in one aspect — this place _would_ crumble without you. It _did_.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed as he scrutinized Rhys. But still, he said nothing.

“Anyone here would die to be you. Hell, _I_ almost died, trying to live up to your image. There’s a reason why people go to see all your movies and buy all those stupid posters and toys. They want even the _smallest_ _piece_ of you.” His hand moved to Jack’s jaw. “You singlehandedly built a place where people can _thrive_ , instead of fighting just to survive like most of the galaxy. Yes, Jack. You are a goddamn hero.”

Well, shit. That almost sounded half decent.

But was it enough? Silence yet again descended and stretched out between them, and Jack did nothing but scan his face. The longer he stared, the more Rhys wilted. He sighed, beginning to draw away, when Jack’s hands grasped onto his wrists. His eyes widened in quiet unease as Jack leaned forward.

“Rhys...” he drawled. “What _kind_ of toys?”

“Uh...what?”

“What _kind_ of Handsome Jack toys?” Jack’s face stretched with his trademark grin. “Do _you_ own these toys, Rhysie? Do you look at my _posters_ when you use them?”

He cackled as Rhys ripped his hands free before storming back to the desk.

“I take it back,” Rhys grumbled. “You definitely _are_ a psychopath.”

“Aw, pumpkin, c’mon...” Jack chuckled, wrapping his hands around Rhys’ waist as he chased him down. 

“That is the last bloody time I give Handsome-fucking-Jack a pep talk.” Rhys folded his arms in a pout, pointedly ignoring the man wrapping himself around his frame.

“Oh Rhysie... my number one fan.” Jack’s laugh faded as he leaned in to nudge his nose against Rhys’ ear. “My devoted, loyal little kitten.”

Rhys grumbled, but did not mind the sudden attention. Jack was _warm_ against his back; he subtly curled toward it.

“Go suck a skag,” he mumbled half-heartedly, and Jack snickered at his ear. Jack’s tongue against the corner of his jaw had Rhys wriggling with peculiar delight.

“Tell me how much you admire me, Rhysie,” his voice was low, almost a purr. “Tell me what you want big, bad Handsome Jack to do to you.”

A shiver ran through him, but despite himself, Rhys pushed away. He casually moved to the desk, putting deliberate space between them.

“Sure, Handsome Jack is fine,” Rhys hummed, fingers dancing across the surface of the desk. “But I mean... he’s no Vault Hunter.”

“Well, actually—” Jack started with a laugh, then seemed to catch himself. Rhys gazed back in question, and there it was again — that nagging feeling that Jack was holding back. Rhys stared him down, but Jack merely straightened, eyebrows contorted sharply.

“What _is_ your obsession with Vault Hunters, anyway?”

Rhys hesitated at Jack’s darkened expression. He wavered, as if the ground beneath him was suddenly unstable. “I don’t know... they’re cool.”

Jack growled, moving behind his desk to lean against his palms. “Have you even _met_ one?”

“Yes,” Rhys barked in defence. “After _someone_ glitched my cybernetics, a bunch of skags were set free, and Zero saved my ass.”

Jack fell silent, but Rhys could feel his fury. He held his breath, slowly glancing over Jack’s rigid, intense frame.

“You, uh… _know_ Zero?”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Jack snarled, eyes aflame. “He murdered my daughter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ruh-roh.


	14. Look On My Works

Rhys held a hand to his face as though Jack had slapped him.

“He… _what?”_

His eyes immediately fell to the broken picture frame on the desk. Jack followed his gaze, and his lips curled. He opened a drawer to his left, reached for the frame, then dragged it across the desk to dump it inside. Rhys winced at the sound of glass and the following _slam_ of the drawer being shut.

“I think that’s enough for today,” Jack seethed. “Go home, Rhys.”

“Jack…”

All things considered, the man was remarkably restrained. His body almost _thrummed_ with anger; Rhys could see the flicker of rage in the creases of his mask, but Jack did little more than sink into his chair and turn his head away. Rhys had inadvertently crossed a line that was far beyond what most of his coworkers would have been airlocked over, but here he was, still standing, still alive.

And despite the amazing level of self control that he witnessed in Jack now, despite the alarm bells telling Rhys to _obey, and go home_ , he did not back away. Instead, he took a defiant step toward Jack, skin rippling with fresh indignation. Jack looked squarely at him, an eyebrow raised in distinct surprise.

“Go _home_ , Rhys,” he repeated, voice level with suspicion.

“No,” Rhys hummed. “No, I won’t. I can’t.”

It was now or never.

As Jack turned to face him, arms crossed as if in challenge, Rhys faltered briefly. He desperately grasped for what courage he could find, mustering the strength needed to confront Jack at last. After all -- he did not deserve Jack’s misplaced rage. No longer would he walk on eggshells, after all he’d been put through at the man’s behest. Rhys wasn’t just some faceless Hyperion peon anymore. He was much more than that.

_Right?_

Rhys lowered his head to force a long, agonizing breath. Jack quietly awaited him, expression tight with expectation, and seemed to stiffen when Rhys finally met his gaze, eyebrows pinched together.

“Jack…why don’t you tell me anything?” he asked softly. “We’re supposed to be in this together, right? But you’ve been holding back so much… I just need to know _why._ ”

Jack did not respond. He eased back in his seat, eyes flickering over Rhys in intense scrutiny. His demeanour was not that of fury, but almost appeared to be _consideration_. The two watched each other carefully as he silently deliberated on his answer, and Rhys remained as still as he could, determined to wait Jack out, to give him all the time that he n—

He visibly flinched when Jack abruptly dropped forward to brace his elbows on the desk.

“And why would I tell you _anything_ , exactly?”

Rhys drew back, face flushed. “…well…I mean, we—”

“What do you think you are to me, Rhys?” Jack’s expression darkened. Rhys balked at the hostility suddenly directed his way. “Did you fancy yourself my _partner?_ Or have you fooled yourself into thinking that I’m your goddamn _boyfriend?”_

For the second time in the last few minutes, Rhys felt like he had been punched in the gut. He stumbled as he stepped back, nearly tripping on something. Gazing down in alarm, his eyes focused on the outline of the trapdoor at his feet, but as he lifted his head Jack was advancing around the desk. He strode toward him and snagged both of his wrists; this time, his touch was painful and tight.

“What did you think this was?” Jack’s laugh was sharp. “What did you think we were doing here?”

“I didn’t…” Rhys paled, staring at the floor. He searched desperately for words amongst the hexagonal pattern at his feet, picturing the door below opening wide to swallow him whole. “I don’t—”

“Look at me, Rhysie,” Jack snapped. Rhys winced as Jack’s hand touched his chin, snagging his face forward. “You and me? This isn’t a _thing_.”

Rhys’ ears burned. He glared back at Jack, hackles suddenly up. “I _know_.”

“I don’t think you do,” Jack growled in response. “I think you’ve gone soft for old Jackie boy. Or hard, depending—”

“ _Jack._ ”

“—and I’m telling you now, Rhysie, just how wrong you are.”

Rhys flushed red, suddenly and all-consumingly _angry_. Angry over having forced the situation. Angry at Jack’s absolute indifference. Angry that he felt tears threatening the corners of his eyes, like a goddamn sucker. Jack still had his hands on his face; he shook Rhys’ head painfully as if to refocus his attention. Rhys blinked rapidly, and a single, embarrassing tear streaked its way down his cheek.

“You mean _nothing_ to me, kiddo.”

It really shouldn’t have come as a surprise. It really shouldn’t have taken so long for Rhys to realize. And it certainly shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did.

Rhys tugged pathetically at his wrists, and Jack released his grip. His eyes lingered on Jack’s distinct snarl, on his rigid frame, before squeezing shut as he turned away. Silence hung in the air between them for a moment, then Jack let loose an exasperated sigh as he stepped back.

“…I’ve got work to do.”

A violent shudder ripped through his body. Rhys flinched at the involuntary action, then shook it off, flush with rage and disappointment and _pain_. He immediately strode across the dais, slipping down the stairs and heading toward the exit. Jack did not stop him, which wasn’t surprising. But Rhys was on auto-pilot, moving mindlessly in his rush to escape the office and the intense despair gripping his chest.

Having ridden the elevator down to the Hub, Rhys moved quickly through the hallways. As he brushed past the occasional faceless coworker, he viciously held on to what control he had over his overflowing emotions. He wasn’t going to cry. Not here. Not ever. He utterly refused to give Jack the satisfaction of destroying him.

 _It’s not about need. No. I_ want _to wreck you._

Rhys almost tripped. His cybernetic arm snapped up, gaining traction against the closest wall. And as it held him in place, he pressed his other hand to his face, fighting back the suffocating urge to break down. Because he _couldn’t._

He just — he needed… he had to…he just…

He had to shoot something.

Rhys turned his palm upward, about to call Timothy when he froze. _No_ , he thought better, while deactivating his arm. He didn’t want to see anything that even remotely reminded him of Jack; he would head back to his apartment instead. It didn’t take long, especially with people jumping to get out of his way as he angrily strode through the narrow passageways. He wanted to believe it was just him, and not the fact that he’d been seen around the space station at Handsome Jack’s side, but Rhys had never been an intimidating man. The reminder of which only served to add to the scowl etched across his face.

When he passed through his apartment door, he quickly moved to the living room. He set his eye to alert him when Vaughn returned home, then promptly deactivated his ECHO access, and grabbed the VR headset from beside the holoscreen. But just before he tugged it over his head, he spotted the backpack sitting on the couch.

He’d recognize Vaughn’s bag anywhere. It was an old Hyperion pack, adorned with a couple buttons and a keychain Rhys had given to his roommate on Mercenary’s Day, years ago. The bag looked fat, absolutely _stuffed_ with clothing and who knew what else. Rhys stared hard at it for several moments, but then shook his head, dragging the headset down over his face.

 _One train wreck at a time_.

Rhys picked up the motion controls and reached for the gun-shaped attachment beside the holoscreen. He slotted the controls into place, and pressed the butt of the plastic gun into his shoulder, coming to settle in the centre of the room. As the game started up, Rhys took a deep breath, and the apartment and the world outside it faded away into the virtual realm.

* * *

It was just a door. A sliding, keycard-access, metal alloy door. A boring, simple slab, with no distinguishing features aside from the Hyperion ‘H’ splashed across it in yellow paint. It held no secrets, and there was nothing about it that set it apart from any of the other doors in that hallway. Because at the end of the day, it was just a door. And it certainly did not deserve all the attention that Jack was giving it. But alas, there he stood, alone, staring daggers into its unremarkably unspectacular surface.

Jack stood stiffly as he glared at the entryway, arms tucked against his chest. He had no reason to be there. He didn’t have anything to say, and absolutely nothing to feel guilty about. He hadn’t crossed a line, hadn’t said something he regretted, and certainly hadn’t noticed the devastated look on poor sweet Rhysie’s face before he ran out of the office.

He definitely didn’t think _he’d_ done anything wrong. So Rhysie had a crush. Big deal, and not surprising in the least. He’d get over it, and they could get back to normal. And if he didn’t, and he walked away, that was fine, too. Jack could get back to kicking corporate butt and plotting his return to Pandora. Sure, Rhys was a hot piece of ass, and — okay — admittedly fun to be around, but that was it.

So why was Jack _here?_

With a grumble, Jack turned and made his way back down the hallway toward the elevator. He made it all of five steps before pivoting, returning to that stupid, boring door, and waving his watch over the keycard panel. It buzzed in acknowledgement as Jack moved into the apartment.

“Rhys? Where are you, kitten?”

Jack strode down the hall, slowing to a stop as his eyes found Rhys. The cybernetic man stood in the middle of the small living room, clad in VR tech with his back turned. He was hunched ever slightly, focused on whatever occupied him in the headset, and had shed a few layers of clothing; Jack paused long enough to gaze appreciatively over the skin bared by the black undershirt he wore. He found himself skimming over the exposed tattoo and tense muscles of his shoulders, lips parted as he stood in silence. The only sound in the room besides Rhys’ soft breath was the rapid _click, click, click_ of the controllers he held.

“ _Rhys_ ,” Jack said again, to no response. When he noticed the audio buds in Rhys’ ears he growled.

This was idiotic. His hands twitched as he watched Rhys jerk around like a fool, wanting to rip the device off his head. And he almost did, until he stopped himself and _really_ looked.

Rhys pivoted in place, ducking low, and the gear in his hands came into view. It looked like a makeshift toy gun, the controllers clipped into its sleek shape. And Rhys held it _perfectly_ , poised against his shoulder with confidence. His movements were quick and fluid and _kinda hot, actually_. He pulled the trigger and spun and crouched and all Jack could do was rock back on his heels and watch. He leaned back to brace against the kitchen island and just _stared_.

The headset mostly obscured Rhys’ face, but Jack could see the snarl under there. He then realized how _sharp_ Rhys’ movements were — focused, but charged. It occurred to Jack then that Rhys was using the video game to work out his anger. Which was…healthy? Maybe? Either way, it wasn’t surprising.

What _was_ surprising was that Rhys was angry at all. Jack tilted his head, lips curling in minor annoyance. What did he have to be mad about? Jack had given him everything he needed — a great promotion, a fantastic office, and all the resources the pretty little programmer could need. He even got to take Handsome Jack’s cock on occasion, which he _knew_ pleased the little wannabe.

So why was he mad?

Jack was staring at the floor when Rhys growled loudly, presumably at a mistake he’d made, before uttering an angry:

“Fuck’s sake, Jack!”

Jack’s hackles were immediately up, and his eyebrows sharpened; he found himself seriously reconsidering tearing that dumb fucking device off of Rhys' head. It was then that he spotted the wetness on the kid’s cheek, the tears streaking down his skin. Rhys, in a brief pause between levels or action or _whatever_ , lifted an arm to stubbornly brush away the tears. But in doing so, he let go a shaky whimper. This shouldn’t have affected Jack in the least, and yet he found himself easing back again, more concerned than righteously annoyed.

Rhys was _crying_. Over _him_.

Jack was no stranger to people crying because of him. But this strangely hit a little too close to home. Watching Rhys brought back a flood of old guilt and exhaustion, and Jack felt a surge of frustration. Suddenly, he was less bothered about what Rhys was doing and more about what _he_ had done.

Right, so here were the facts.

Rhys had fallen for Jack. Plain and simple. And sure, Jack hadn’t exactly discouraged him. The amount of time they spent together seemed to increase exponentially with every passing day, to the point that Jack had felt terrifyingly _alone_ the moment Rhys had left his office. But that didn’t mean Jack had feelings for him. He _couldn’t_.

Handsome Jack didn’t need anyone. Nisha had been fun, but he never felt like he actually cared about her. And Moxxi… the bitch had great tits and the odd decent idea, yet Jack absolutely _never_ needed her. Rhys was no different. He was just a code monkey, just a little wannabe, just…

Easily the most loyal person he’d ever known. And caring — he seemed to store away details that Jack never would’ve even noticed about anyone else. He’d remembered the way Jack liked his coffee after the very first time they’d gotten one together. He kept Jack in check when his executives got on his nerves, kept meetings on track and running efficiently. And he wasn’t even Jack’s PA — he was just _there_. A constant source of comfort that Jack didn’t _need_ , definitely not, because Jack didn’t _need_ anyone, but it was actually pretty nice to _have_ —

Jack pressed a hand to his chest, feeling an odd discomfort. He often had to remind himself that his body was a mix of organic and synthetic, wholly unnatural, especially in moments like this, as his eyes returned to Rhys and his skin flushed and his heart palpated. It managed to be unfamiliar and increasingly annoying at the same time. And the longer he watched Rhys, the more he noticed the sadness and fury compelling every movement the younger man made, the more that feeling in his chest grew and stretched and ached.

Okay. So maybe he _did_ care. Or something.

Jack gave up on trying to get Rhys’ attention. He stayed in place against the kitchen island as the minutes stretched on, as Rhys continued to show surprising grace and smooth movements in his virtual combat. When Jack heard the front door slide open, he didn’t even flinch. He remained, arms folded, intently watching Rhys, as the buff little accountant walked into the room and proceeded to drop his shit in surprise. 

“J-j…Handsome Jack, sir!” he squeaked. “What are you…”

Vaughn trailed off as Jack gave him a silent, pointed look, before returning his attention to Rhys. After a hesitation, Vaughn moved to his side, eyes widening as he spotted his roommate.

“Uh, wow. He talked you into playing with him?”

Jack exhaled through his nostrils. “He doesn’t know I’m here.”

Vaughn looked at him questioningly, but said nothing. The two stood in silence, watching and waiting for Rhys to finish his game and remerge back into the real world. They both visibly stiffened when Rhys lashed out with the fake SMG in a sharp melee, before promptly _falling to his knees._ He hung his head low, and Jack knew it had nothing to do with the game.

Jack momentarily reconsidered heading for the door, but instead simply rocked back against the island as Rhys began to remove his headset.  
  


* * *

Rhys’ body _vibrated_ with energy as he made his way through the level. It was nearing — what, almost an hour? — and he had so far refused to take a break, despite the sweat trickling down his forehead, or the way his chest heaved as he breathed. He was on a roll, demolishing Vaughn’s high scores, along with his own. It would be a shame to break his stride by walking away, and besides — he wasn’t quite done working out his rage.

In fact, it hadn’t subsided in the least. It punctuated every melee, was present in every barrage of bullets. He mowed down wave after wave of undead enemies, running on nothing but fury. And it probably explained why he was doing so well, despite Rhys’ ego wanting to claim that win. He wasn’t _exactly_ picturing Jack’s face on every NPC, but it was certainly tempting.

He _hated_ Jack then. That smug, self-centred, arrogant _douchebag_. He walked all over everyone and to hell with what was left behind. But more than that, Rhys hated himself. Resented that, after all Jack had put him through, he still went crawling back to that asshole. He walked away from a (well, _initially)_ healthy relationship and fell on his knees for _goddamn_ _Handsome Jack_ like he wasn’t expecting him to screw him over.

How had Rhys been so stupid? He had his share of dumb moments, sure, but not to this gargantuan degree. Why couldn’t he just let Jack _go?_

He felt a pang in his heart, and suffered a strike from an enemy that got too close. Letting out a growl, he quickly put the zombie down, but couldn’t ignore the uneven beating in his chest. _Oh,_ he grumbled to himself. _That’s why_.

Rhys would not fall for Handsome Jack. He _couldn’t_. And he would do his damnedest to convince himself he _hadn’t_ _already_ _done so_. Because loving that man was a mistake. It was toxic. It was…

_Warm. Satisfying. Everything._

He wished he could take back the day’s events, and just go back to whatever casual thing existed between them before. He wanted desperately to return to simply being able to wake up in Jack’s arms, to feel his warmth around him as Jack nuzzled into his neck and mumbled complaints about his morning breath. To stand with him while they worked, only to have Jack reach out and touch him, with no intent and only quiet affection. To hear his—

_You mean nothing to me._

Rhys winced as the memory shot through him. At the hesitation, an enemy closed in, and Rhys suffered a hit before spraying a barrage of bullets through his attacker. He growled audibly, feeling a fresh tear streak its way down his cheek.

“Fuck’s _sake,_ Jack,” he croaked, shoving the pain down deep and stomping on it.

He shook free a heavy sigh, as best as he could while pivoting awkwardly in the empty space of his small, shared apartment. He wished he had listened to Vaughn — just given up on Jack months ago. Given up on that pathetic, lonely feeling and focused on himself. If only he’d met Timothy earlier, had the chance to embrace the _Vault Hunter_ inside of himself before he’d surrendered to his obsession.

_If only._

Rhys flinched as his ECHOeye pinged him that Vaughn had returned home. Rhys considered the level he was already part way through and committed to finishing it, despite the sweat now trickling between shoulder blades and down toward his backside.

What he must look like — with his matted, soaked hair and charged movements. Not to mention the very possible grunts of anger he omitted, which were hopefully explainable by him virtually murdering hordes of the undead. As he mentally considered the state of himself, Rhys felt his ego suffer a heavy blow. The level came to an end, punctuated with a final heave of the gun to cave in the face of the last zombie, and Rhys sank onto his knees.

Jack had done this to him. And he wouldn’t have cared in the least, had he been able to see it. Probably would have laughed. Or fucked his face into the floor and _then_ laughed.

Rhys growled to himself, slowly finding his feet. He despised this self-pitying nonsense. Hopefully Vaughn hadn’t seen much of it yet, or believed it was in regards to the game, despite the high score highlighted on the screen. He shook the anger from his face and gently left the gun on the floor, lifting his hands to remove his headset.

“Hey, Vaughn?” he hummed, voice perfectly normal because he was _fine, just fine._ “Are you…”

Rhys fell silent and deadly still as his eyes focused on Jack. He blinked once, twice in disbelief before registering that the man was _actually_ _there_ , standing behind his couch, leaned against his kitchen island. And despite Vaughn standing awkwardly next to him, glancing between the two, Jack’s attention was solely on Rhys.

For a moment, nothing happened. Jack and Rhys simply stared at one another, and Rhys tried not to preen, to wipe away the sweat on his brow or fix his clothes just because Jack was _in_ _his apartment_ and he was _looking at him_. No — he held his ground, willing his breathing to calm, and waited out his end of the standoff.

He could do this. He was stubborn enough. But so was Jack.

Rhys almost flinched as Jack pushed off of the island. He regarded him for another few seconds, expression schooled, then strode to the front hallway. The opening and closing of the door signalled the finality of his departure, and Rhys found he could only stare in awe and confusion at the place where Jack had once stood.

“…Rhys?”

“How long was he here?” His voice was stiff. Hoarse.

Vaughn shrugged. “He was here when I got in a few minutes ago.”

Rhys slowly set the headset down. “What did he say?”

“Not much,” Vaughn shook his head. “But I got the feeling he’d been here a while. How long were you playing?”

Rhys looked down at himself — his sweaty, flushed skin — and sighed. “About an hour.”

He turned, staring toward the front hallway. He very nearly activated his ECHOeye to check the door logs, but thought better. It wouldn’t help to know, would it?

To know how long Jack had stood there, silent, watching him. Doing… what? Waiting?

This question lingered in the air, so much that Vaughn even shuffled in unease. “What was he doing here?”

“We had a fight,” Rhys muttered, immediately regretting the phrasing. A fight. Like a couple might. “I mean… I got pissed about something. He didn’t seem to care.”

“But he showed up here…” Vaughn’s eyebrow rose. He didn’t have to finish the thought.

“Yeah…” Rhys shrugged, then slowly looked at his bro. “But I mean, it doesn’t mean anything.”

Vaughn sank back, rubbing his chin. “…I mean…maybe?”

Rhys blinked. He carefully examined his friend, suddenly recalling the earlier events of the day.

“I’m sorry…what?”

“Bro, I gotta admit, I haven’t seen Jack like that before. I doubt _anyone_ has. I mean, he came _looking_ for you, right? You think he’s ever even been to the residential floors before?” Vaughn winced. “Not that it…changes anything…”

Rhys dropped his attention to the backpack still sitting on the couch, and Vaughn visibly stiffened.

“So…you’re leaving then,” Rhys said, thankful his voice didn’t crack. “Where are you headed?”

Vaughn nervously pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “…I’m going on a little trip…”

Rhys’ eyes widened. “You’re _actually_ leaving? Leaving Helios?”

Vaughn shrugged, then nodded. Rhys blanched, and the two fell silent.

He wanted to ask where he was going. He wanted to ask when he’d return. And he very much wanted to ask if it was all his fault. But by the look on Vaughn’s face, he knew that his best bro wouldn’t offer anything in response. And he already knew the answer to the last question. The heaviness of Vaughn’s outburst from earlier still hung over them, enough for Rhys to turn away.

“Uh…okay then,” Rhys tugged at his shirt, grimacing at its sweat soaked state. He awkwardly moved from the living room, intent on a shower, but paused briefly before leaving the room.

“You, uh… stay safe. Okay, bro?”

He looked back, and Vaughn was stiffly staring at the floor. He nodded, swallowing hard.

“…I will, bro. You take care of yourself.”

Rhys ignored the desperate, clawing feeling in his chest, and headed into the bathroom. By the time he got out, Vaughn was gone, and so was the backpack.

And Rhys was alone yet again.

He lingered for another moment in the doorway to his bedroom, eyes heavily regarding the empty sofa, before he turned away to go to bed.

For a long time, Rhys simply lied on his back and stared at the ceiling of his dark bedroom. His breathing was slow and measured, the only sound in the quiet room. As the hours stretched on, and the simulated light of the room dimmed beyond dusk, Rhys shifted once or twice, but otherwise remained in place.

Occasionally he thought about getting up to remove his prosthetic, to actually go to bed, but he never did. He just quietly and mournfully stared into the abyss as he wondered how he’d succeeded at fucking his life up so royally.

Eventually, as Rhys felt himself begin to drift into the space between sleep and waking life, his arm chirped loudly in the silence of the empty bedroom. He finally tore his attention away from some place far beyond the ceiling, and begrudgingly lifted his arm. Upon accessing his messages, he noted with trepidation that the sole alert awaiting him was actually from a blocked contact.

Rhys frowned. He ran a quick virus scan, and upon coming up clean, opened the message.

**10 mins. Docking Bay 2. Got a ride with your name on it. C U there, Rhysie.**

Rhys stared at the text with wide eyes.

What was Jack up to?

* * *

The docking bay was eerily empty as he arrived. Rhys slowed to a walk as he entered the vast room, checking over himself to make sure he had dressed properly. Ten minutes hadn’t left him much time to get up, slick back his hair, throw on some clothes and Hyperion vest, and run out the door to make the elevator. And now that he’d arrived, checking his ECHO HUD, he noticed it was almost 2AM. A dozen questions jumped to mind, but he decided it was best just to find Jack.

He scanned the room, which was sparsely lit at this time. A number of loader bots milled about the area, along with a few security drones, but they mostly ignored Rhys as he moved down the centre of the station. Finally, he spied a lit bay toward the end, and could see a shuttle with an open door, humming with life. He moved toward it, feeling uneasy.

“…Jack?”

Much like the rest of the bay, the shuttle car was clearly empty. But the door was wide open, waiting. As the light poured out and bathed the ground at his feet in invitation, Rhys stared at the threshold of the car, considering. This didn’t feel right.

Maybe it was all a hilarious joke. Get Rhys’ hopes up, have him take the precious time to head all the way across Helios only to find absolutely nothing awaiting him. Rhys growled, glancing up at a nearby camera in suspicion. His tight expression waned when he noticed it appeared to be deactivated, hanging at a peculiar angle.

Alarm bells rang in his ears. But before he could react, Rhys felt a warm hand clasp tightly around his neck. He hissed, suddenly realizing his folly.

“I guess you’re about as foolish as I’d hoped, _Rhysie_.”

Rhys reeled in Isaac’s grasp. He pivoted, tried to fight, but Isaac’s arms enveloped him close. He gave him a sharp _shove_ , and Rhys suddenly found himself on the floor. _Inside_ of the shuttle. He swivelled, staring up at Isaac’s looming frame in the doorway. The man grinned darkly down at him.

“Have a nice ride, kitten.”

“Isaac!”

The shuttle closed before Rhys was on his feet; he slammed uselessly against the door. The car shuddered, and Rhys powered up his ECHOeye, urging it to life as he scanned over the frame, desperate to halt its functions.

“Stop, stop stop,” he chanted, eyes roving around the car. Everywhere he looked, his eye flashed a bright, red warning. Isaac had expertly blocked out his access, leaving him stranded. Fear ripped through him; he sank to the floor as the shuttle moved jerkily away from its dock. He paused briefly, then turned his palm skyward.

“Come _on_ , Jack,” he hissed, waiting for the call to connect.

“Departure initiated,” a calm female voice announced. “Arrival on Pandora in thirty minutes.”

Rhys vibrated with loathing and despair. He could’ve swore he heard Isaac’s laugh outside the pod, but didn’t chance a look out the door’s window. A tear streaked down his cheek as he stared desperately at his hand. He _wasn’t_ going back. He _couldn’t_.

Finally, _finally_ — the call connected. Jack didn’t appear, but Rhys could hear his telltale grumble.

“Kiddo, now’s not a good—”

“Jack, please, _help—_ ”

Something sharp crackled over the ECHO as the call was severed. Rhys regarded his palm in utter disbelief before turning, eyes flickering toward Isaac’s shape still on the platform. A wicked, cruel smirk etched across the other man's face; he lifted his hands to aim a pair of finger guns at Rhys. His thumbs bobbed once, and Rhys felt a cool, desperate dread sink through his chest.

“Please ensure your seatbelt is secured for your safety. And enjoy your flight!”

“No…”

The shuttle leapt, and the car was bathed in the unyielding darkness of space.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This is the end of Part 1.**
> 
> I was playing a fair amount of Arizona Sunshine when I wrote this, so, uh...yeah. Zombies.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading! Part 2 is fully written, but I'm going to take a break from posting for a bit so I can revise a few parts. Please let me know what you thought; I have been loving your comments so far. Your continued support will help me get through the _other_ three stories I have currently under way.
> 
> Thanks again. And don't forget to **like, follow, and obey.**


	15. Welcome Back to Pandora, Kiddo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Part 2**

Thirty long, agonizing minutes had passed for Rhys to tear apart the interior of the landing shuttle and still manage to come up empty handed. He was not so naive to have expected to find a gun, but maybe some flares? Or please, _just a shock baton!?_ But much to his desperate, gnawing concern, there wasn’t even food or water onboard. Even if Rhys was able to somehow avoid the vicious Pandoran wildlife, Isaac had effectively guaranteed that he would starve to death instead.

But in reality, both scenarios proved to be the least of his concerns.

Not long after the shuttle landed, Rhys was sunk into the back corner, head hung in his hands. He barely flinched as the door opposite was violently worked open, and did not even raise his head as the bandits approached to level rifles in his direction.

Because _of course_ this was his damn luck. Most people on Helios would never have even seen Pandora up close. But here was Rhys, back for his second go. Wonderful.

“Get up.”

At last, Rhys craned his head to stare blankly at the bandit standing over him. Like the others, he was clad in bulky red armour reminiscent of old Atlas gear, and his face was obscured beneath a blocky helmet. Rhys’ eyes narrowed in indignation, before he dismissively looked away.

“No.”

“Get up, or I will _help_ you up.”

Rhys sneered, sparing a few inner curses for Isaac. He hoped Jack’s punishment for him would be _slow_ and _painful._ If Jack even noticed he was gone at all — the few words Rhys had managed to utter before their call ended likely hadn’t been enough. Jack tended to ignore the smaller details when it worked to his benefit.

With a wince, Rhys pushed onto his feet, and was immediately manhandled against the wall. Restraints were snapped onto his wrists, drawing his arms tight against his back. Soon enough, he was being shoved through the door of the shuttle to stumble out onto sandy terrain. He squinted against the bright sky overhead, frowning at what laid before him. The vast landscape that stretched on for miles in every direction was bleak and flat and, well, _familiar._

Rhys sighed dejectedly, turning his attention instead toward the bandit technical parked nearby.

“Hurry the hell up. We’ve got a long ride ahead of us.”

“What, back to your _Sanctuary?”_ Rhys snorted.

The bandit paused. “...not quite.”

A rifle nudging his back encouraged him forward; he pointedly dragged his feet as they marched toward the vehicle. Another pair of bandits awaited him in the back, watching in silence as he was made to awkwardly climb up to join them.

“How did we luck out like this?” one inquired, seeming to look him over in scrutiny.

“Nothing short of corporate backstabbing, I imagine,” the other answered with a laugh. “Bet someone wanted this chump’s job.”

“Wow.” Rhys shifted on his knees, doing what he could to stave off troubling ripples of fear in his gut. The bandits looked at him.

“What?”

“I just...I guess I didn’t expect you to have that kind of vocabulary,” he shrugged, offering a tight smirk. “I mean, you actually know what a job is?”

He expected an imminent meeting between the butt of a rifle and his face. But instead, the closest bandit looked squarely down at him where he rested on his knees and eased back in his seat.

“Nah. Not since you corporate fascists burned Pandora to the ground.”

Rhys winced. Well, that was fair. DAHL might’ve started the fire, but Hyperion definitely stomped on the ashes. At his lack of response, the crew chuckled.

“Get a look at this guy. Got that fuckin’ honeycomb all over him. Hyperion stooge.”

“C'mon, _stooge_. On your stomach.”

It was not a request. Rhys was quickly shoved onto the floor of the truck bed. He grimaced against the dig of gravel and dirt against his cheek, when suddenly something rough and — _gross, what the hell was that smell?_ — somewhat damp was tugged over his head. He struggled in the cloth sack, trying to at least avoid brushing his lips against the disgusting material.

“Are you kidding me?” He growled.

“Nope,” the bandit answered cheerfully. “And if I see that hand of yours activate, I won’t hesitate to put a bullet in your skull.”

Rhys immediately relented, setting his head down on the floor. It’d be useless anyway — his ECHO-net access had still been disabled when he’d landed on the planet.

“Settle in, stooge. Gonna be a while.”

The technical roared to life beneath him, setting vibrations through his head that rattled his teeth. Rhys closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath and curling in on himself as the vehicle began its journey. He pleaded with his heart, begging his pulse to slow and calm, intent on snuffing out the tension that gripped his chest. He could do this. He had been through far worse and come out relatively unscathed. And if he could survive a death race, Pandoran wildlife, and Vallory’s goons, he could handle a few bandits.

A pang struck his chest. As he zoned out, feeling the tremors of the landscape beneath the technical’s treads, the nudge of the bandits’ feet, and the lance of pain around his wrist, a quiet desperation began crawling its way into the back of his skull.

For everything that he had faced, someone had been there with him. He’d had Vaughn, Sasha, Fi, or Loader Bot at his side. Hell, he’d even had _Jack._ But now, there was no one.

He was completely, utterly alone.

* * *

When the technical finally pulled to a stop, Rhys jerked awake. He twisted groggily against his concealed vision, trying foggily to remember where the hell he was. Then hands were upon him; he was quickly dragged backward out of the vehicle and onto his feet. He stumbled in haste to regain his balance, recoiling as the cloth sack was ripped from his head.

He blinked warily as his eyes adjusted to the daylight. They had arrived in a fairly nondescript Pandoran town, one that looked relatively abandoned and unassuming. Tall, ramshackle buildings leaned out over the lonesome roadway, looming overhead as he looked about. His eyes fell onto a nearby alleyway, which he stared at in serious consideration before thinking better, and gazed toward the bandits at his back.

The four had spread out, looking rigid with peculiarly straight postures. Their rifles were at the ready, heads held high; he quickly realized they were standing at attention. But why—

“Well...he doesn’t _look_ like much.”

Rhys bristled, pivoting at the woman’s voice, and his heart came to an abrupt halt.

She was shorter than he expected, but fairly intimidating despite — incredibly lean and nothing but toned muscle and fair skin. A cloak was wrapped about her head and shoulders in concealment, but Rhys could still see the hints of blue tracing her flesh, the unmistakable marks of a _Siren._ And behind her, looking almost equally as frightening, was a familiar, _massive_ man etched with scars. Rhys instantly recognized the pair, and a very real dread worked its way through his core.

What had Isaac _done?_

Lilith — Vault Hunter, Firehawk, and de facto leader of the Crimson Raiders — stepped toward him with a predatory gait. She strode around him in a circle, pausing to scan the “Hyperion” badge on his chest before passing a hand along his cybernetic arm. Rhys flinched in response, but was otherwise too afraid to react, boring a hole into the ground between his toes with his eyes.

Brick merely stood at a distance and watched, bulky arms tucked over his chest. “You think he’s worth anything?”

Well, he didn’t seem to remember him. That was good.

Lilith had stopped at Rhys’ side, lifting a hand to trace a finger along his neural port. Rhys hissed against the unpleasant sensation, wrenching away in fresh indignation, and Lilith rewarded him with a tight smile.

“Hard to say. We’ll get him inside and find out.”

Rhys quivered, still avoiding her gaze.

“What’s your name, legs?”

He did not immediately answer. After a slow, uneasy breath, he carefully looked Lilith over as his flesh wrist shifted painfully in its restraint. The Siren’s eyebrow rose, a silent judgement that stirred a strange, renewed fervour within Rhys as he stared back in defiance. He narrowed his eyes, straightening his torso enough to pointedly look _downward_ at her with a sneer.

“Fuck. You.”

His body rocked forward with the impact of the rifle. He collapsed onto a knee, grunting with surprise, but Lilith snagged his collar to prevent him from face planting into the dirt. She bitterly laughed, dragging him back onto his feet.

“Well. Thanks for not making this too easy. And to think I was expecting today to be a dull one.”

Rhys could only mumble a response, eliciting another round of chuckling from the bandits encircling him.

“Brick? If you would.”

An embarrassing sound squeaked out of Rhys as he was lifted into the air. The huge Vault Hunter hefted his frame up onto his shoulder like he weighed nothing, and the pair headed into the closest building.

The structure was dimly lit, but surprisingly well occupied. It appeared that the deserted streets were a facade; many more civilians lingered about inside, watching curiously as the trio passed through the narrow hallways. Lilith ignored them, leading the way past a number of twists and turns to arrive at what appeared to be the private quarters.

Brick carried him into a small room and dumped him unceremoniously onto a bed at the end opposite the doorway. Rhys landed directly on his metal arm, crying out in pain as his ribs cracked against the prosthetic. He rolled over onto his stomach, fighting back a litany of curses as the bulky Vault Hunter disappeared from the room, leaving him alone with Lilith.

The Firehawk eyed him at a distance, leaning cooly against the wall.

“So. You ready to talk, pretty boy? Or do you prefer to be worked over a bit first?”

“I think I gave you my answer outside,” Rhys spat. With his arms pinned behind his back, he maneuvered awkwardly to face her, cheek pressed to the bedspread. Lilith simply smirked at his struggles.

“My patience has limits, Hyperion,” she hummed. “You better come up with a good reason for us to bother with interrogating you, or you’ll quickly end up as skag food.”

Rhys winced. Why was it always skags? Feeling a wash of betrayal, he glanced down at his boots in suspicion.

“What makes you think there _is_ a reason?” he growled, wincing as a fresh lance of pain coursed through his chest. “Who says I’m not just a low level stooge like most of Helios?”

“I’m almost certain that’s the case. But I’m willing to spend the time to find out.”

“Who’s that?”

Rhys flinched at the sound of a new voice. He glanced sideways at the latest arrival — a blond, well-built soldier that had joined Lilith near the open doorway. His breath snagged, falling deadly still in recognition.

 _No. Way_.

“Probably no one,” Lilith sighed. “But we’ll know soon enough. Keep an eye on him, Ax. I’m going to make sure no one tracked the technical here.”

At Lilith’s departure, Rhys found himself having trouble tearing his gaze away from the Commando in the doorway. He felt flush with shame and excitement, doing his absolute best not to scan the man from head to toe, and failing miserably.

Axton was even more stunning in person. Opposite Rhys stood the epitome of a soldier; his perfect posture was brutally rigid despite how naturally at ease he appeared. Below his meticulously kept crew cut, Axton’s face was bold, punctuated by the militaristic Sergeant ranking over his left eye and a series of mean looking scars across his brow and square chin. Despite the heavy, presumably kevlar-lined jacket that wonderfully squared off his thick shoulders, it wasn’t difficult to make out the ripple of a muscular frame beneath, and Rhys shivered in peculiar delight.

The Hyperion videos did _not_ do him justice.

“Well?” Axton grunted, with a tilt of his head, and Rhys realized he had been asked a question.

“W-huh?” he answered dumbly. _Smooth_. Axton smirked.

“I asked if you were okay. You look a little worse for the wear, pal.”

Rhys swallowed hard. This was unexpected. Following Lilith’s fiery, hostile introduction, the ex-Dahl soldier was unsettlingly calm.

“Did Brick drop you on your head?” Axton asked, after several moments of silence had lapsed.

“Sorry, I, uh…” Rhys mumbled, dropping his head in an attempt to gather his wits. “You’re, ah…”

“I’m…?”

“You’re _him_ ,” Rhys blurted. “You’re _Axton_ …right?”

A shit-eating grin crept across Axton’s face, and he shifted with an unspoken swell of ego. Rhys felt himself turn red, as he tried not to eye-fuck the Commando any more than he already had.

“The one and only,” Axton chuckled, expression shifting into a _smoulder_ that nearly killed Rhys. “You’ve heard about me, huh?”

“Just from the Hyperion motivational videos,” Rhys admitted shyly, turning his head to avoid Axton’s stare. It didn’t help, and Rhys tried not to preen under the man’s attention. “There’s a couple where you’re, ah… kicking some _serious_ ass in the background.”

Rhys flinched when Axton started across the room toward him. He came to settle on an ammo crate that rested perpendicular to the bed, and Rhys took the moment to carefully sit up, dropping his feet to the floor near Axton’s. Now that they were sitting so close, nothing could be done to restrain Rhys from shamelessly ogling the man.

Because _damn._

Axton’s eyes flashed as he seemed to take notice. “Well… I’m glad I could be _motivational_. But I feel like I’m an odd subject for a Hyperion film.”

“Well, the video was to display the effectiveness of our loader bots. They eventually drive you back.”

Rhys carefully returned his gaze to Axton to see him furrowing his brow in thought. “Huh. I don’t remember that ever happening.”

“Knowing Jack, it’s all propaganda. No doubt they are pretty heavily edited,” Rhys shrugged, and he felt his heart twist. What was he _doing?_

But then Axton’s knee bumped against his, and his treasonous concerns melted away.

“So I looked good out there?” the soldier hummed, leaning toward Rhys, and god help him.

He shyly bit his lip. “Y-yeah. And your turret was just fantastic.”

Axton immediately straightened, eyebrows shooting up. “You mean my old lady? No wonder I caught your attention.”

He paused briefly to rest his rifle against his leg, left hand disappearing behind his back. He retrieved a mechanical box, and Rhys’ attention fell on it with a sharp inhale.

“The DAHL Sabre Turret,” he whimpered, feeling clammy.

“My girl,” Axton purred. “She’s saved my ass more than I’d like to admit. I’d show ‘er to you, but she’s a little big for this space.”

“I would _love_ that,” Rhys uttered, against his better judgement. Axton pocketed the turret with a smile, easing back.

“You thirsty or anything?” he asked. “You look a little…”

Rhys flinched at the sudden contact. Axton did not react, hand still hanging mid-air where he went to touch Rhys’ shoulder. In awe, Rhys paused, staring into Axton’s eyes as he found himself captivated by how _green_ they were.

 _Wait_.

Rhys edged back on the bed. He scanned over Axton’s mildly confused expression with a snarl. The Commando was warm and charming; his friendliness was effectively disarming. It was enough to stir up memories of Rhys’ first interactions with Isaac.

Rhys felt his stomach churn with bitterness, and he narrowed his eyes at Axton. He was suddenly reminded of the sharp pain in his ribs, of the tightness of his restraints, the small room that screamed _prison cell_.

“So what’re you?” he sneered, and Axton’s eyes widened. “Good cop?”

To his surprise, Axton only laughed. Rhys sat up, taken aback.

“Lil’ would never trust me with that,” he said with a smile, dropping his hand with a shrug. “No, nothing like that. I’m just here to, y’know — shoot you if you try to run.”

Rhys shivered, eyeing the rifle that Axton casually but adeptly handled. “You would shoot me?”

Axton leaned forward and Rhys forced himself not to flinch away, feeling the heat emanating off of the blond. He stared down at where their knees touched.

“Don’t you worry, sweetheart,” Axton uttered quietly into the space between them. “I’d go easy on you.”

Rhys let out an involuntary moan before coughing awkwardly to cover it, looking anywhere but Axton’s smug face.

“Um, well, hey…is… is that offer for water still on the table?”

Axton chuckled. “For sure. Be right back.”

Rhys focused his eyes _anywhere_ else but Axton’s ass as he rose and crossed the room. He waited until the Commando disappeared past the door before he closed his eyes, a pang of shame in his chest. It was ridiculous to feel guilty about a little flirting; he was far beyond regretting anything regarding Isaac, and Jack had already made his feelings clear that Rhys meant nothing—

Rhys’ eyes snapped open. _Jack_.

Spinning abruptly, and thus earning a wrench of pain up his side, he glanced over his shoulder and down at his hand. He ignored the sting, flicking open his cybernetic palm. As his prosthetic winked to life, he silently prayed that his network access had been restored, watching as a light illuminated the space above his fingers. Rhys sat awkwardly in his twisted position as the form took shape in his hand; the call connected, and his heart leapt into his throat.

Handsome Jack’s small, holographic shape sprang into view. For a moment Rhys was speechless, caught off guard by the haunting familiarity, and as he searched for words, Jack folded his arms, raising an eyebrow.

“ _Rhys_. What the hell, kiddo? Why weren’t you answering—”

“Jack. Shut up. _Listen_.”

He ignored the sharp look Jack gave him, turning for a better angle.

“I need your help. I’m down on—”

A fresh stab of pain shot through Rhys and he cried out, twisting hard against it.

“ _Rhysie_ ,” the small Jack leaned forward. “What’s wrong? Why am I looking at the back of you, kitten?”

“I’m cuffed,” Rhys hissed. The sound of footsteps in the hallway filled him with panic, and his mind was suddenly blank. “I… _bandits_ , Jack, I—”

“Bandits?” Jack snarled, voice suddenly tight. “Where _are_ you, Rhys?”

Rhys opened his mouth, but froze when the door to the room slid open. He felt time slow as his eyes fell on the figure in the doorway. A lick of glowing light hovered around the Siren; she moved into the room, attention honed in on Jack’s hologram.

“ _Talk_ to me, kiddo. What’s going on?”

“What the hell is this?” Lilith snagged Rhys’ wrist. She maneuvered him over, and Rhys found himself pinned face down into the bedspread, wincing under the Siren’s touch. He glanced sideways up at his arm in her hand, watching as Jack’s demeanour warped into something sinister. “Handsome Jack, huh? This one of those fanboy videos you corporate stooges obsess over?”

“You wish, you cold hearted _bitch_.”

There was a very pregnant pause as Lilith considered the tiny Handsome Jack. Rhys felt a flicker of heat lick off her arm. “…you have got to be kidding me.”

“Oh, I don’t hear anyone laughing.”

“I’m pretty sure we _killed_ you,” Lilith seethed, eyes narrowed. Rhys turned, gawking up at Lilith in distinct shock. A fresh ripple of real, unrelenting fear coursed through him, and he quickly reconsidered his predicament. Suddenly, being her prisoner took on new meaning.

“I guess it didn’t take. Unlike what I’m going to do to you and your friends.” Jack snarled. “Now get your hands off of him.”

Lilith appeared unfazed, turning her attention to Rhys. “So. Looks like you _are_ somebody. With a direct line to the big, bad Hyperion CEO? Not just a lackey after all, huh?”

“Fuck you,” Rhys spat at Lilith, flush with renewed anger. He winced under the hand on his head increasing pressure. As Lilith smothered his face into the bedspread, Rhys just barely noticed Axton lurking in the doorway, looking surprised. Something regretful worked through him as he spotted the canteen in Axton’s hands.

“Everything makes sense now,” Lilith seethed. “The attack on Sanctuary. The return of Hyperion troopers. The factories starting back up. Looks like you’re up to your old tricks, Jack.”

“I _said_ ,” Jack ignored her words with a hiss. “ _Get your fucking hands off of Rhys_.”

Rhys’ eyes snapped wide. Jack’s voice was dark and terrifying and it was _lovely_ and _exhilarating_. He tried glancing at the little hologram, but Lilith’s knee shoved him deeper against the bedspread.

“And what if I don’t?” she laughed. “What are _you_ gonna do about it?”

“Don’t toy with me, you cunt. I will—”

“Sorry, Jack,” Lilith interrupted. “As fun as this little reunion has been, I’ve got a prisoner to interrogate.”

Lilith expertly removed the pistol from the holster at her thigh. Rhys winced as it brushed his temple and immediately understood the message.

“Don’t call us. We’ll call you.”

 _Sorry, Jack_. Rhys squeezed his eyes shut tight and ended the call. In his mind, he pictured Jack throwing his ECHO device across the room before filling it with bullets. And despite the headache setting in, paired with a distinct dread, something warmed in Rhys’ chest. 

Isaac Andrews was a dead man.

Rhys breathed slowly, measuredly, face warm and flush where it was burrowed into the blanket. For a moment, nothing happened. He merely waited, silent as the tension within the room grew. What he didn’t see were Lilith’s watchful eyes on Axton — on the canteen in his hands — the two mutually glaring at one another.

“So,” Lilith finally continued, easing her weight off of Rhys. He remained where he was, refusing to budge despite the lance of pain in his side. He didn’t even flinch when she crouched to look him in the eye. “Looks like we’ve got something to talk about now… _Rhys_.”


	16. The Interrogation

Rhys remained silent and still as the short-haired woman worked away at him. He couldn’t very well get far even if he wanted to, what with his prosthetic stuck in a vice. And while he wondered if he could break free with some amount of effort, he was too nervous to try with the trio of Vault Hunters watching him from across the room. Lilith and Axton had been joined by Mordecai, and the three of them watched quietly as the strange woman at his side disabled his Hyperion access.

Doing his best not to shift in place, Rhys glanced uneasily toward the third Vault Hunter. The thin, scruffy looking man’s hair was pulled back into a thick ponytail of dreads beneath a very _bandit-like_ bandana, hanging over the well-used sniper rifle slung between his shoulders. His eyes were obscured by a dark pair of goggles, which lent to the heaviness of the permanent scowl etched across his bearded face as he leaned against the wall to stare straight back at Rhys.

Though the moment they had crossed paths at the Atlas Bio Dome had been brief, Rhys remembered him well enough. He was the typical, brutish Vault Hunter type, unconcerned with hurting others as long as a bounty was available at the other end. Luckily, Mordecai didn’t seem to recognize him — or at least didn’t say as much. But regardless, Rhys bristled under the scrutiny directed his way, turning his eyes toward the floor instead.

“This is a _lovely_ arm you have,” hummed the woman working at his cybernetics. “Older, but I can tell you’ve kept it updated. Beautiful little software patches.”

“Thanks,” Rhys answered hollowly. “I did them myself.”

“Wonderful,” she almost purred. “I mean, you’ve been absolutely neglectful at keeping it lubricated, and the colour is _deplorable_ , but—”

“ _Tannis_.”

Despite Lilith’s glare, she hardly seemed phased. She plucked a tool off the workbench at her elbow before waving her hand through the air. “Yes, yes. Fine.”

The metallic implement was slipped into a tight space in Rhys’ palm; the resulting icy sensation flickered through to his elbow before ricocheting up into his skull. He winced, pressing his flesh hand to his ECHOeye as Tannis moved away to chirp a happy “Finished!”

“Thanks, girl,” Mordecai nodded, but Tannis seemed to ignore him, having returned to her workbench without another word. Rhys dropped his hand, scanning the room with his ECHOeye. While his vision was unimpaired, his HUD had disappeared. There was no Hyperion access. No ECHO-net. No interface of any kind. His arm even seemed to feel a little colder, like it had lost strength and gone dead — the way his real arm felt after he slept on it funny.

He felt useless. _Vulnerable._

It was then that Lilith strode toward him, and his stomach clenched.

“Okay, Rhys. Here’s the deal.” As the Siren folded her arms across her chest, Rhys swore he could see a shimmer of light drift over her flesh. “We are going to ask you some questions. If we don’t like your answers, or if you don’t answer at all, you’re gonna get hurt. Understand?”

“What constitutes an answer you don’t like?”

Lilith rocked back at his response. “Excuse me?”

 _“Well,”_ he dragged the word out, tipping his head to the side. “I could give you an honest answer, but it might be something you don’t want to hear… Are you still gonna hurt me even though I gave you the truth? Because I don’t think—”

_“Rhys.”_

“Okay, yup,” he straightened and fired finger guns her way. “Ask away.”

Lilith rolled her eyes; Axton smirked.

“All right, first up… What is Hyperion planning? What is Jack up to now that he’s back?”

Rhys’ first instinct when he came up empty was quiet panic. But under reconsideration, he suddenly realized the value in having zoned out during the meetings with Blake — he had nothing that could be used to betray Jack.

“I…I don’t know,” he stuttered, slipping cybernetic fingers through his hair. “All Jack ever said was that we were ‘back on the map’, but he didn’t say why or how. And it’s not my place to know, so...”

“You’re a good little stooge, huh?” Mordecai mumbled. Lilith snorted, passing the sniper a grin, and Rhys only grumbled in response, dropping his eyes back to the floor. At least they seemed to trust his answer — which was all he could ask for, since he honestly didn’t know what Jack had been doing down on the shit-hole of a planet.

“Fine. Question two.” Lilith set to pacing the small space between him and the Vault Hunters, an agitated behaviour that began to fuel Rhys’ paranoia. “How is Handsome Jack alive? Was that really him, or some kind of fancy trick?”

Fear fluttered in Rhys’ chest. If he wanted to avoid a similar round of questions, it would be prudent to answer strategically. What fate awaited him at the hands of the Crimson Raiders, were they to learn of his role in Jack’s return? He drew a heavy breath, keeping his head low.

“…that’s really him. I mean, no, not the _original_ Jack,” _Because that’d be impossible_. “But for all intents and purposes, that _is_ Handsome Jack. He has his memories, his body, his mannerisms…his _grudges_.”

Rhys leaned heavily on the last word, hoping it’d have the effect of finality for which he was desperately reaching. Lilith immediately stopped pacing; her stare lingered heavily on Rhys as she seemed to mull over his answer. Straightening, Rhys felt strangely determined to hold her gaze. He was now all too aware how important it was not to allow the Firehawk to slip past his defences.

 _Remain strong._ _She can’t know_.

“…so. Jack’s back, huh?”

Rhys quietly, as subtly as he could, released the breath he had been holding. Lilith turned her attention to the Vault Hunters behind her, and they exchanged heavy looks.

“The Warrior is gone,” Mordecai murmured. “What could he be up to?”

“Factories, research facilities… Maybe he’s just rebuilding Hyperion?” Axton offered.

“Maybe,” Lilith growled. “But this is Jack. He’s always up to _something_.”

Rhys quietly agreed with her, but even he didn’t know.

“Lil’,” Mordecai frowned, eyebrows high. “You think he might’ve found the—”

“ _Mordecai_.”

The three of them simultaneously looked at Rhys, but he was already looking at the floor as a means of feigning ignorance. But he silently grasped onto Mordecai’s near-admission, safely tucking it away in the back of his mind.

“I guess that brings us to our final mystery,” Lilith continued, rounding back on Rhys. “Who the hell are _you?”_

Rhys stiffened. “I’m nobody.”

“That’s not really true, though, is it?” Lilith crossed over to Rhys, gently gripping his chin. His lips curled into a snarl, as he did his best to tug away and put space between them. “You can’t just be some low level Hyperion employee. You know Jack. Hell, you _call_ him ‘Jack’, and not that ridiculous moniker he uses to brand himself.”

Rhys’ eyes narrowed. “Okay. Yeah. So what?”

“So…?”

He shrugged. “I’m telling you… I’m nobody important.”

“You ever been held captive before, Rhys?”

He considered. “Actually… kind of?”

“So you know that this will all work better for you if you _cooperate_ with us.”

Rhys laughed, and Lilith’s eyebrow went higher. “You _know_ Jack, right?”

“Too well.” Her response was so cold Rhys could feel it from a distance.

He paused again, subconsciously carding fingers through his hair. It was quickly becoming clear that Lilith had played a larger role in Jack’s history than he ever could have guessed. The revelation brought to mind the argument they’d had before he left, punctuating his anxiety with a healthy dose of frustration.

“I wasn’t lying to you,” he insisted. “I’ve got nothing to give you. I don’t _know_ anything.”

“Nothing?” Mordecai asked. “Despite the direct line to Handsome Jack?”

“Yeah,” Rhys hissed, exasperation clawing through his chest. “Really — I’m just a dev.”

“A dev.”

“A programmer. And I don’t know anything about Jack’s plans. He doesn’t tell me what he’s doing.”

“So what are you programming for him?”

“Ah…” Rhys swallowed hard. “…a _turret_.”

There was a noticeable flicker of amusement in Axton’s expression, and Rhys desperately tried not to blush as he evaded the Commando’s direct stare.

“A turret?” Mordecai asked, voice thick with tangible skepticism.

“I’ve been working on a new weapons line,” Rhys went on. “That’s all. Nothing groundbreaking. Nothing secret.”

“Jack has you working on a _gun?_ ” the sniper blanched. “Why?”

“Well, not Jack, not exactly. I worked in the Munitions side of the Programming Department. I got the idea from—”

He hesitated. Axton casually raised a hand to cover his smile.

“…I thought I could expand on an existing system. Jack just provided the means to finish the project.”

“You’re telling me you’re really just a stooge?” Mordecai snorted. “Like, for real? So why’s Jack losing his shit over you?”

Rhys missed the look Axton threw Mordecai, but he certainly didn’t miss the heavy shift in Lilith’s expression.

“It’s because he’s his little pet,” Lilith started quietly. She turned, scanning Rhys’ face, as if prodding for a reaction. “His little fuck toy.”

Rhys reeled back, realizing with a sharp tug that he was still stuck in the vice. Indignation and fear curled together in his stomach. “I am _not!_ We’re not… he isn’t even… I’m _not_.”

 _God, I_ am _._

As a flush of shame bloomed in Rhys’ chest, he closed his eyes. The sound of Lilith’s steps drew near, and he flinched as her fingers deftly stroked over his cheekbone. “Maybe not _yet_. Jack has a tendency to isolate himself. Well… the real Jack did, anyway.”

 _How does she know Jack so well?_ Rhys bristled, eyes snapped open. He lifted his head to glare at Lilith, but she had already turned to her little entourage.

“We hit the jackpot, boys,” she mused. “A perfect bargaining chip. We can—”

“You’re wasting your time.”

Lilith gazed sharply back at Rhys in question, but he pointedly looked away. “He doesn’t give a shit about me. Said so himself. I mean nothing to him.”

“He said that to you?” Lilith returned to his side to crouch down. He barely lifted his head, and couldn’t help as once again, his attention briefly lingered on Axton. The soldier frowned back at him, eyebrows pinched together.

Rhys chided himself — _stop looking at him_. It wasn’t that he was a handsome face. Not _just_ , anyway. It was that he seemed to be the only one really concerned with Rhys’ responses, which was both comforting and really quite pathetic.

“Yeah,” Rhys murmured. “He said that.”

“Oh, _Rhys_. That’s not something you say to a person you don’t care about,” Lilith smirked. “That’s something you say to convince _yourself_ you don’t care about that person.”

* * *

Timothy had seen a lot in his time as a Vault Hunter slash doppelgänger. He’d stood up against DAHL forces, vicious wildlife, hell — even the guardians of a long dead alien race. He’d also gone toe-to-toe with enough buzz axe wielding psychos to last him a _couple_ lifetimes. And despite his naturally timid demeanour, Timothy had always been able to handle himself, keeping his cowardice under wraps.

But nothing — _nothing_ scared him like an unhinged Handsome Jack. Nothing came even close.

Timothy stood to the right of Jack’s desk, toting an oversized Hyperion combat rifle aptly named the “Destroyer”. He was outfitted in sleek Hyperion armour, along with a helmet to obscure his face as he posed as enforcer. Jack was in front of the desk, pistol in hand as he towered over the latest cowering employee.

The man on the floor was right to be fearful. The steps up to Jack’s desk were already littered with his dead coworkers, pools of blood, and bits of skull and brain matter. Jack paced about in front of him like a wild animal, searching for the perfect chance to strike.

“Tell me _again_ ,” Jack hissed. “What is it you do here?”

“S-security, sir,” the man on the ground whimpered. “M-m-mostly watching the monitors, a-alerting bots when n-n-necessary.”

“And which _sector_ do you monitor?”

“The docking bay on l-le-level two, Handsome J-Jack, sir.”

Jack stopped pacing. He moved in front of the man, kneeling to point the pistol into his face. Its muzzle brushed the underside of the man’s chin, and he audibly croaked. Timothy did his best to remain in place, but couldn’t help wrinkling his nose as the scent of ammonia managed to drift to his nostrils even past the barrier of the helmet.

“So how is it that all of the cameras in the bay were _out of order_ during your shift last night?” Jack’s voice dropped to a low, intense whisper; Timothy had to lean forward to hear. “How did you fuck up your _one job_ so badly, that a Pandora-bound shuttle was allowed to leave the station without your knowledge?”

“S-sir, I’m s-sorry!” he cried pathetically. “T-the cameras were on a l-l-loop, I didn’t n-notice!”

“A _loop_ ,” Jack growled. “And what happened to the on-foot sweeps I mandated three months ago?”

“I…” the man swallowed hard. His eyes widened as he searched fruitlessly for the words.

“Yeah,” Jack hummed. “I thought so.”

A lone gunshot sent a fresh coat of blood across the stairs. The man’s body crumpled, contorting dramatically backward to tumble down the steps. Jack, unappeased, set to pacing again, rocking back and forth across the dais.

“Bring in the next!” he barked. Timothy stiffened.

“Jack—”

Jack stopped long enough to thrust his face into Timothy’s space. The sharp lines of his mask were intense; Timothy stumbled back a step.

“Do we have a problem, Tim?” he snarled. “Is there something you need to _say_ right now?”

Timothy swallowed the lump in his throat. “Sir…it’s just…”

Jack reached up and rested his hand on Timothy’s shoulder, tapping the pistol against his helmet at the same time.

“Oh, _do_ go on, Timmy. I insist.”

All he’d wanted was to know what was going on. Why he was here. And why there were nearly ten corpses now decorating Jack’s office. But instead, he merely shivered, wishing he hadn’t said anything at all. “…Nothing, sir. I’ll have them bring in the next one.”

Jack reached up and patted the cheek of his helmet, but there was nothing friendly about the gesture.

“Good boy.”

Timothy again shuddered, then lowered his rifle enough to stab a finger to his wristwatch. The doors to the office immediately slid open, and a pair of guards led in a small woman. She looked nervous, but strangely well composed, as her eyes locked onto Jack’s looming frame.

“Alright. Your turn,” he spat. “Why are you here?”

“I maintain shuttle operations, sir,” she answered, surprisingly without a stutter despite the bodies strewn about.

“That’s not automated?”

“It is, sir. But when unplanned trips arise, I verify the request, and make sure the software properly adjusts shuttle availability.”

“So how did last night’s unplanned trip happen, exactly?” Jack tilted his head. “Did _that_ alert your system?”

“It did, yes.”

A beat passed. Timothy held his breath.

“At approximately 0130, the shuttle was primed for departure. It was fed coordinates and prepped for take off before we were even alerted,” she spoke quickly, head held firmly. “About ten minutes later, with its sole occupant on board, the shuttle locked down. It refused our override codes, and jammed all ECHO frequencies.”

“So you were _aware_ of the problem by then?”

“Yes, sir. And I was unable to stop the departure,” she winced. “There was a recent software patch that prevented us from disabling the shuttle.”

Jack went rigid. He stared wildly at the woman, and Timothy wondered if he even stopped breathing.

“A _software patch?”_

“Yes, sir. It was uploaded directly from a console inside the shuttle bay.”

“Why was I not informed?”

“I sent an alert to your latest PA, sir. A Rhys Strongfork, I believe?”

Jack lifted his attention away from the woman. He lowered the pistol, but yet fingered at the trigger.

“…you may leave.”

Her eyes widened. “…really?”

“Get the hell out of my office before I change my mind,” Jack hissed. “Lock down that console, fix the patch, and get your department in order. You have one hour.”

“Sir!” she jumped to her feet. “Yes, sir!”

Timothy was impressed with the speed by which she left the room, even while having to hop over the bodies in her way. All she left behind was a trail of blood-slicked footprints.

“Tim.”

“Yes, sir?”

Jack turned to face him, and his mask rippled with a fresh fury unlike Timothy had ever seen.

“Find Isaac Andrews, and bring him to me,” he seethed. “ _Alive_.”

“Immediately, Jack.”

Timothy descended the stairs in a blink, already summoning the security force waiting just beyond the doors to the office. He brought up commands for Loader Bot stations all over Helios, feeding them the instructions.

Suddenly, things began to click into place. At the woman’s words — _sole occupant_ — Timothy understood the source of Jack’s unbridled rage. He was a man that did _not_ like to lose. Especially when it came to the people he trusted most.

As Timothy moved into the elevator, flanked by his security force, two thoughts clung to his mind. The first: he hoped wherever Rhys was, that he was okay. That the scant sessions they’d had together would somehow keep him safe. The second…

Whoever this Isaac Andrews was, he was _fucked_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to say "thank you" for the ongoing, lovely feedback. It's genuinely difficult to not just sit here and hit refresh again and again after posting to see what you all have to say.  
> A little piece for you:


	17. Fortune n’ Glory

Rubbing absentmindedly at his neck, Rhys lost himself in a listless stare into a mirror bolted to the wall. There was a dramatic, spidering crack in the reflection, leaving his image looking hauntingly warped as he stared back at himself, tracing fingers along his tattoo. He followed the arcing lines of the ink several times over before coming to a stop on a barely noticeable smattering of bruises, wincing as if they stung at his touch. And with a heavy sigh against the sudden tightness in his chest, he propped his arm against the wall, pressing his face into the crook of his elbow.

It would not be long before nothing remained of the traces of Jack on Rhys’ neck. It left him feeling peculiarly desperate, as if by losing the fading marks he was also losing whatever had existed between them. Everything was slipping away. Even though Jack had arrived at his apartment in search of him after their fight, and despite the utterly frantic sound of the man’s voice when confronted by Lilith the previous day, Rhys was finding it harder and harder to believe that Jack actually cared for him. Or ever had.

And while he could not lie that the interaction between Jack and the Firehawk had absolutely set his skin on fire, he remained skeptical nonetheless.

Of course, it likely had something to do with the solitude — being alone for hours on end was certainly not helping. Between a few sparse meals of questionable origin and an indeterminable amount of time, Rhys had very little to do other than to stare accusingly at himself in the mirror and relive every painful moment of the past few months, wondering exactly when it was that he fully lost himself to the illusion of ‘ _us.'_

In the quiet, empty room, the memories came fast and unbidden. And where Rhys would have preferred to remember the exchanges for the rush of heady feelings that they held at the time, the delightful endorphins were long gone, and he was left instead with a terrible anxiety that gripped his very core. Moments that were once precious now left him cringing — from the time he had awoken in Jack’s bed and pretended as though he _belonged_ there, to allowing himself to believe that Jack had _needed_ him.

He’d created a fantasy of a man he simply called _Jack,_ when really, there was only _Handsome Jack._ And Handsome Jack made him weak.

Even now, Rhys felt lost without his guidance. Once or twice, a flicker in his periphery had his heart climbing into his throat, only for his hopes to be dashed at the turn of his head. The familiar, holographic form of his hero had _not_ miraculously appeared to save the day, and Rhys was still miserably alone in his small cell.

And yet, despite all of this, how _resentful_ and _ashamed_ he felt, he somehow couldn’t prevent himself from mourning the eventual loss of the hickeys on his neck. Sometime during his isolation, he recalled how _outraged_ he had been with Isaac for even daring to suggest that Rhys belonged to him. But now, without Jack’s possessive, guiding presence, he felt ill. Adrift.

_I am Jack’s._

Hypocritical, and empty inside, he could but curl in on himself in an anxious effort to fill the void.

A heavy _clunk_ echoed in the room behind him, and he flinched at the door being unlocked. Fear fluttered in his stomach, as it had every time the door was wrenched open. He was yet unprepared to again face the Firehawk — she had the uncanny ability to see through both him _and_ Jack, and it was incredibly unnerving.

“You doing okay, kid?”

Rhys drew back from the wall in distinct surprise, eyes wide at Axton’s sudden presence. The Commando had come to stand not far from Rhys’ elbow, watching him with his head tilted in an almost puppy-dog fashion. Somehow, in gnawing spite of himself, Rhys was almost happy to see him. Happy to at last have the company, at least.

“Did you just call me _kid?_ ”

The soldier chuckled, a deep reverberation in his chest that sent a shiver down Rhys’ spine. He stepped closer, pressing his thick shoulder into the wall next to the mirror.

“I mean, _yeah._ Come on.”

“What does _that_ mean?” Rhys gave him a wary, defensive look. “I’m pretty sure we’re almost the same age.”

“Yeah, but you’ve got this baby face thing going on,” Axton lifted his hands to frame his cheeks. “It’s adorable.”

Rhys flushed red. He stuttered in minor disbelief, mind going blank as it was caught between a sarcastic response and wondering how easily the bulky soldier could bench his body weight—

Well. That was quite enough of _that._ Rhys winced away from his thoughts, pushing off from the wall. He retreated into the room, returning to his assigned place on the bed at the opposite end.

“To answer your question…” he shrugged, sinking into the soft surface. “I’m fine. I guess. As well as I can be.”

“Yeah...that’s fair.”

Axton hovered at a distance, and as a brief silence descended between them, Rhys chanced a glance in his direction. The combat rifle that he had previously been toting around was noticeably absent; in its wake the Commando had shoved his hands into his pockets. He somehow looked altogether unimposing, and kind of _cute._ Rhys realized with a frown that he almost seemed to be waiting for something, and followed his shy glances to the empty ammo crate on the floor next to the bed. He straightened with understanding, swallowing hard at the lump in his throat.

“Did, uh...did you want to sit down?”

“I was just ordered to check in. I don’t want to be any trouble.”

_Holy shit._

“It’s fine,” Rhys almost whimpered. “I could use the company. Not much to do but sleep and stare at the wall, otherwise.”

Damn, Axton had a stunning smile. After a beat, he advanced through the room, carefully easing himself down onto the crate. A few moments of comfortable silence lapsed before he again lifted his head, lips parted in thought.

“I’m sorry if it makes you uncomfortable, but there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask about.”

“Oh?” Rhys forced his gaze to the floor, worried he would regret extending the invite so quickly.

“Your turret. What’s it like?”

Rhys lifted his head, mutely staring at Axton. The soldier frowned, then rubbed at his neck as if he had inadvertently crossed a line, leaving Rhys to snort with laughter.

“Sorry, that’s just not what I…” he smirked, covering his mouth with a hand. “Uh, well...she can digistruct in 2.2 seconds. Expands to just under six feet tall. Keeps up with the Dahl turret in terms of portability, magnetic base, and easy swapping of ammo type. But she has a longer standing time and better enemy tracking. Her auto targeting can also be overridden by arm gestures via wearable tech.”

Axton leaned forward with interest. “No kidding?”

Rhys swelled with pride, permitting himself a full grin. “Depending on the loadouts, she can be classed as anti-air. We’ve also tested her on various building shells, and she punched through most concrete barriers like they were made of tissue paper.”

The soldier’s eyes grew hungry as he listened. “That sounds _awesome_.”

“I’m glad,” Rhys dipped his head to hide the blush in his cheeks. “I put a lot of time into it. Wanted to do the Hyperion brand proud.”

“It’s not _yellow_ , is it?” Axton asked, making a face.

Again, Rhys couldn’t help but laugh. “No. Gunmetal black, last I checked. There are tan and green camouflage skins available too. But I managed to convince Jack to avoid—”

As soon as the name passed his lips, Rhys’ brain stumbled to a halt. He dropped his eyes to the floor, choking as the Commando continued to steadily stare.

“So…” Axton sighed. “You and Handsome Jack.”

While his initial reaction was that of shame, Rhys shifted with a flush of defensiveness. He shot Axton a wary glance, but where he had expected judgement, the Commando only appeared to be curious. There was nothing malicious in his expression as he sat there, patiently awaiting his response.

Rhys sat back on the bed, pressing his shoulders to the wall. Axton was not what he had expected. Sure, he maintained that hardened exterior of general _badassery,_ but he was in actuality fairly mild-mannered. A little rough around the edges, but kind of sweet. Thoughtful, even — almost like Timothy.

He was surprising, but in no way disappointing.

“Well,” Rhys exhaled softly, considering the floor beneath his boots. “Me and Jack. I don’t know. There was a time I thought, maybe? But I’m starting to think I just _wanted_ it to be more. I…”

Pausing, he pressed his hand to his chest in an effort to alleviate the tightness in his lungs. Axton followed the gesture with his eyes, offering a frown.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “That sucks.”

Rhys very nearly snorted with laughter. Again — crude, but kind. Rhys gave the Commando a genuine smile. He scanned his deep, alluring eyes for the millionth time before his gaze fell down, honing in on the dog tags hanging from his neck. Something piercing struck his heart upon noticing a rather sizeable diamond ring dangling off the same chain.

“Is that…”

“Yeah.” Axton touched the ring knowingly. “My wife’s.”

Rhys’ jaw snapped open and Axton grinned.

“You’re _married?”_

“Sorta. Separated. We never officially divorced, but we’re definitely not together.”

“Oh,” Rhys sat up. “I’m sorry.”

“It was for the best,” Axton scratched at his neck. “She was my commanding officer, and I earned myself a date with a Dahl firing squad. She quietly suggested I disappear overnight, so I came out here.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. But like I said — I think it worked out. She deserved better. I wasn’t exactly focussed on being a good husband at the time. We were both pretty young.”

“What _were_ you focussed on?”

Axton ducked forward with a wink, and Rhys quivered. _“_ _Fortune n’ glory, kid._ _”_

“Did you find it?”

Stiffening, Axton looked away, and Rhys wondered at the heavy change in his expression. 

“Yeah. I guess you could say that.”

He didn’t elaborate. Rhys didn’t ask him to — he had the feeling he wouldn’t like the answer.

“Anyway…” Axton’s hands shifted to his thighs before he pushed to his feet. “I better go find a place to bed down for the night.”

Night. _Night already?_ Rhys uselessly gazed about his cell. “Oh? You don’t have your own bed?”

When Axton turned, he stared pointedly at Rhys. His gaze then dropped to the bunk underneath him, and Rhys flushed in realization.

“Oh…uh…”

“It’s no big deal,” Axton smirked. “I can sleep pretty much anywhere. I won’t have trouble finding a replacement for now.”

As Axton moved to leave, Rhys almost jumped up. “But I mean, you don’t _have_ to…”

The Commando glanced back to him, brow raised, and Rhys found himself stuttering again.

“That is to say… you don’t have to _go_ yet,” he mumbled, running his fingers through his hair. “If you, uh… wanted to hang some more… or whatever.”

Internally, Rhys was slapping himself in the face. Externally, he was red up to his ears, and Axton gave him a shy smile.

“I get it. You’re probably feeling…”

_Scared_.

“Alone.”

Rhys blinked. Axton was watching him with an imperceptible look, something between empathy and pity that didn’t sit well. Flush with shame, Rhys lowered his eyes to the floor. “…yeah. Something like that.”

Axton’s gaze returned to the bed; he tilted his head as he seemed to consider. Then he was crossing the room again, but this time, he came to sit directly next to Rhys. The bunk dipped beneath them, and Rhys swallowed the lump in his throat as their thighs brushed together.

“You know, you don’t give yourself enough credit. You’re stronger than you think.”

“Really?” Rhys wasn’t entirely convinced.

“Hell yeah,” Axton nodded. “I’ve never seen anyone stand up to Lilith like that before. And you’ve gotta be made of sterner stuff if you hang around with Handsome Jack, right?”

“I’m not sure Jack made me _stronger_ …” Rhys sighed. “And to be honest…I wonder if he really worries about me at _all.”_

Axton’s response was hesitant. Then his arm was around Rhys’ shoulder, giving him an affectionate shake. Rhys shivered as the void in his chest filled ever so slightly.

“Darlin’, _trust_ me,” Axton’s voice was close to his ear. “He is losing his _shit_ right now.”

* * *

Upon first impression, Isaac Andrews was a peculiarly reserved man. He exuded a quiet confidence that had immediately taken Timothy off guard, especially when he was placed under arrest without a fuss. It was particularly unnerving, and Timothy had made sure to maintain a certain distance from the man, directing him to their destination with the barrel of a combat rifle between his shoulder blades. They had arrived without incident, and Isaac had merely offered a sneer of apparent distaste upon glancing the chair to which he would be shackled before sitting down.

Simply put, Isaac creeped Timothy the fuck out. This was a remarkable feat in its own right, given what Timothy had been put through in all his time as a body double. He’d seen and met and killed all types. But there was something about Isaac that left him unsettled from the start, and it wasn’t just his markedly chill demeanour. He was unpredictable, and Timothy craved predictability.

He wanted to admire him, really. His cool exterior was something Timothy had barely learned after years of pretending to be someone else. Isaac seemed like a man who could say much in only a few words.

Unfortunately for him, he was now at the mercy of Handsome Jack, who had neither the patience nor the inclination to hear him out regardless of what he had to say, or how it was said. But to Timothy’s astonishment, this didn’t seem to bother Isaac in the least. Even when his left eyebrow began to swell and turn purple, and blood oozed from his split lip, and one of his fingers sat kinked where it had been discarded onto the floor by a rusty pair of snips, he merely sat back in his restraints and waited for his moment.

The cell where Timothy stood, anxious for Jack’s next order, was quiet but for Isaac’s laboured breathing and the sound of trickling water. Jack stood at the sink in the corner, hands thrust beneath the steady stream as he cleansed the fresh lacerations on his knuckles. He had gone still, seemingly entranced by the macabre mixture of blood and water that swirled in the basin, and Timothy wondered with a frown if he’d finally passed out standing up from the lack of sleep.

He’d done it before. It wouldn’t have surprised Tim in the least.

But then he spun the taps, and was hastily wiping his hands on a rag as he turned to stare at Tim. His expression was heavy with fatigue and fury, and Timothy was suddenly grateful for the helmet obscuring his own concerned face.

In the next instant, Jack had tossed the rag to him, and Timothy had to tear a hand free from the bucket in his grip to catch it in time. He proceeded to unfold it in his fingers, dutifully awaiting instruction.

“Okay, Blake.” Jack casually lifted his arm to inspect the flourish of bruises forming across his knuckles. “Go ahead.”

Jeffrey Blake cleared his throat. He stood with his back to the door, well-composed as ever, and kept his eyes on his tablet. Timothy carefully inspected the scrawny, uptight fellow, taking note of the small muscle tic near his right eye. Blake was fairly skilled at concealing his fear, but Timothy knew better. He was simply one of the few people to have lasted long enough in Handsome Jack’s employ to master restraint over his natural _flight_ response.

“The shuttle was intercepted almost immediately after landing on Pandora,” Blake read. “Previous to this, there were a number of planet-side communications that we linked to Andrews’ ECHO device, but the messages were irretrievable. Regardless, it was clear that Andrews orchestrated yesterday’s events.”

“Almost managed to cover your tracks,” Jack grunted, folding his arms. “But not quite.”

“If I had been trying to hide…” Isaac’s voice was disturbingly calm as he lifted his head to level a look at Jack. “I would have left Helios the same time your _kitten_ did.”

Timothy dropped his eyes to the back of Isaac’s head, bewildered that the exit hole of a pistol round did not immediately appear. He checked and rechecked for the presence of the trusty _Vision_ holstered on Jack’s hip, surprised to see it was still in place.

“I did find that strange,” Jack admitted, moving a few paces toward Isaac’s chair. “You didn’t try to run. Why?”

“It would have been pointless. We both appreciate that.” Isaac turned his head deftly to eye Timothy where he stood behind him. “And besides… this way, I get a front row seat to the impending shit-storm.”

Again, Timothy did his best not to react. He was no stranger to hostility directed toward Handsome Jack — having been the recipient of it on many occasions — but this was different. Isaac was quietly psychopathic in a way that rivalled the very man looming over his beaten and battered frame.

Jack leaned forward without uttering a word to run his fingers through Isaac’s hair. At the occipital range of his head, the grip found purchase, and Isaac’s neck snapped back with a sharp tug. The man in the chair visibly winced, but it soon gave way to a spiteful smirk, and Timothy stepped in to cover it with the rag.

Crouching, Jack moved close enough to hiss into Isaac’s ear. “Where are they holding Rhys?”

“Oh?” Isaac’s voice was muffled beneath the damp, bloodied rag. “You mean you haven’t found him yet? What a pity.

The tug of a snarl pulled at Jack’s mask. His head turned upward in a gesture to Timothy, and he nodded in response, before lifting the bucket in his right hand. He held it just shy of Isaac’s face.

“Unless you wanna choke on chunks of your own lungs, cupcake, you’ll tell me what I need to know.”

“Wait wait wait wait—” Isaac stiffened beneath Jack’s grip, his unobscured eye snapping wide. “You know…I think… _maybe,_ he might be on Pandora. But that’s just a guess.”

Timothy didn’t have to wait for Jack’s instruction. He tipped the bucket, sending water cascading over the rag and down the sides of Isaac’s face.

It had been a long time since Timothy had waterboarded anyone at Jack’s behest. He certainly hadn’t missed the gurgling sound, the desperate choke and audible click of an overwhelmed windpipe, the garbled cries. Isaac at last lost his composure, body snapping rigidly as it was hurled into an intense battle of survival. Jack patiently held Isaac in place as his hips bucked and Timothy continued to slowly drown the man in the chair.

After fifteen seconds, what would’ve been an eternity for Isaac, Jack jerked his head. Timothy dropped the bucket away, and Isaac slumped to the side, free from Jack’s grip. The soaked cloth hit the floor in a wet _smack_ as Isaac coughed bile onto his chest, gasping for air. Jack gripped his hair once more, slowly sliding fingers through his drenched locks.

“Where. Is. _Rhys?_ ”

Jack was rippling with righteous fury. The muscles in his shoulders were primed with intent as he leaned into Isaac, breathing a scalding breath onto his face. The man in the chair at last recovered, still somewhat breathless, and deftly turned his chin to stare up at Jack.

“Do what you must, Jack,” Isaac hissed. “You’ve got _nothing_.”

“Is that so?”

“And while you’ve been losing your mind over your sweet, innocent little _Rhysie_ , you’ve failed to notice what I’ve _really_ been doing.”

The threat that laced Isaac’s voice sent a wash of uneasiness over Timothy. Jack similarly sank backward, eyes narrowed.

Isaac grinned at him, and it was bloody and wide. “You see, Handsome Jack… I know your secret.”

Timothy exchanged looks with Blake, who had finally torn his attention away from his tablet. His eyebrows sat high on his head as he set a rather cautious look onto Isaac.

“Really.” Jack was back on his feet, fingers tightly gripping the material of his jacket where they rested on his hips. “Enlighten me.”

“Rhys was never forthcoming about his time on Pandora. Even after you apparently _abandoned_ him, he was an obedient, pathetic little fanboy,” Isaac explained. "Every time I asked, he would change the subject, or avoid a direct answer. I must admit I almost gave up on breaking him. Until, that is, we ran into Mister Blake at your little welcome-back party.”

Blake’s eyes flickered between Isaac and Jack, but luckily for him, Jack did not seem fazed. Isaac, however, lazily turned his head toward the thin man in the doorway.

“What was it you called him? Ah — ‘that Pandora fellow’. You know. The one who ‘did Hyperion a great service.’”

Timothy would’ve rolled his eyes at Isaac’s attempt to mimic Blake’s snobby timbre, but it was honestly pretty decent. It also seemed to do the job of setting Blake on edge, and cementing the fresh snarl in place across Jack’s mask. A muscle in Jack’s forehead twitched, and he sent a fierce look in Blake’s direction, causing his normally schooled demeanour to briefly flicker in apprehension.

“And then later, when I got Rhysie _alone—”_

Jack’s head turned on a swivel, snapping back to Isaac as the man leaned forward in his restraints.

“I confronted him on what I, at the time, merely suspected was a tryst between you two. Oh, and he _begged_ me not to leave. Did his damnedest to prevent me from walking out that night. Got down on his knees and offered every explanation he could. And you know what he said…?”

_A man who could say much in only a few words._ Unless drawing them out served to _antagonize_ , and by the look on Jack’s face, Isaac was succeeding in every way. Jack’s hand had fallen to grip his pistol, but he remained still, and said nothing. The air between them crackled with tension as Isaac tipped his head back with a grin.

_“He was in my head.”_

Silence loomed in the room, but for Isaac’s deranged laughter. Timothy floundered, at a loss for an explanation to Isaac’s cryptic words. But as his eyes returned to Jack, he froze.

Timothy had only caught Jack speechless on a very limited number of occasions. He normally had the composure and wit to breeze his way past any obstacle. This time, however, Jack’s lack of response filled Timothy with dread. His employer’s mask remained twisted, eyes edged wide to reflect the depth of his rage. But still, he said nothing.

Isaac rocked back in his chair as his laughter died out, and he looked around the cell as if suddenly bored.

“And after your previous interaction with Vaughn, it wasn’t difficult to work things out. You supposedly die on Pandora. Months pass, and everything you ever built starts to fall to shit. Then Rhysie goes off on his little adventure. And when he returns home, big bad Handsome Jack is back in action. But only via broadcasts. Video feeds. How peculiar.”

“Get to the fucking point.” Jack had been reduced to snapping jaws and flying spittle.

Isaac licked his lips, looking almost drunk on himself. “You’re an AI construct.”

Timothy blinked.

“Congratu-fucking-lations,” Jack spat. “You want an award for solving the mystery?”

_Wait, what?_

“I did, actually,” Isaac hummed. “But Katagawa was hesitant to play ball. At first, anyway.”

Jack’s lips parted. Isaac continued.

“So I decided to take care of things myself.”

“By getting rid of Rhys?”

“By getting rid of _you_ . You see, being Head of Programming, I’ve been afforded with a fair amount of access to Helios’ codebase. It took a few months to crack your system, but luckily, you were… _distracted_.”

Jack stumbled back a step. “You…”

“It’s all gone. The regeneration data. The integration software. Even the copy of yourself you left behind to pull Helios’ strings behind the scenes… _Everything_.”

“And yet here I stand,” Jack growled. “With all the resources to start again.”

“You’re right,” Isaac nodded. “By all means, you can just rebuild what you’ve lost. As you’ve already had to do. But with Rhys down on Pandora, where do your priorities lie?”

“The fuck does that mean?”

“You’re vulnerable, Jack. If you die now, there’s no coming back. So I guess you have to ask yourself — whose life means more?”

Jack’s mask tightened. Timothy closed his eyes.

Ah. So there it was.

Also — this was the first time Timothy had heard a villainous monologue from the man sitting _in_ the torture chair. That was definitely new.

“I regret putting Rhys’ life on the line,” Isaac hummed, easing back. “It was an unfortunate necessity. But if he survives, at least he’ll finally see you for what you really are. And how little you actually cared for him.”

“You did all of that out of petty _jealousy?”_

“It may have started that way. But at the end of the day…I suppose I just wanted to see Handsome Jack _lose.”_

Timothy’s head jerked up in alarm, locked onto Jack’s rigid frame. But thankfully, Blake moved forward to interrupt, taking a shaky step into the centre of the room.

“Sir…you need to see this.”

Jack did not deign to glance Blake’s away. He exhaled sharply, pressing fingers to the bridge of his nose. _“Now?”_

“Yes, sir…” Blake swallowed. “Perhaps we should step outside.”

After brief consideration, Jack advanced toward the door.

“You surprise me, Jack,” Isaac called after him. “I figured you’d have strangled me to death by now.”

Jack’s shoulders bunched with fury, but he did little more than slow to a halt. When he gazed over his shoulder, his expression was markedly cool.

“I’m not going to kill you,” he stated plainly. “That belongs to Rhys.”

He turned, shoving Blake out of the room, and Timothy scrambled to follow after. As he stepped out of the cell, closing the door with a healthy _slam_ , he took care to secure it, and by the time he caught up with Jack, all of the man’s practiced restraint was gone.

“When were these images taken?” he seethed, leaning over a cowering Blake.

“In the last ten minutes, sir.”

“Tim.”

Jack chucked the tablet at him. Timothy barely caught it, dropping his gaze to the screen. He was greeted with the foreboding image of three Maliwan dreadnoughts hovering in Pandora’s atmosphere.

Timothy lifted his head as Jack appeared before him. Hands came up to grip the cheeks of his helmet.

“Get down to that planet. Find those fucking bandits before Maliwan does,” Jack hissed, and there was something quietly fragile in his voice. “ _Find Rhys_.”

“I will, Jack,” Timothy choked. "I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rhysie feeling anxious after a day and a half of isolation.  
> TRY SIX+ WEEKS, KIDDO.


	18. 25% More Handsome

Headaches are not as simple as one might think. There is a wide range of causes that can send a dull, painful flicker through one’s skull — from the fairly common, illness-sparked throbbing to intense, sometimes debilitating migraines. A old, familiar friend of Handsome Jack’s came in the form of a band of pain that circled his scalp, not enough to be truly painful, but certainly enough to be _fucking irritating_. An infuriating distraction when all he needed was his full ability to concentrate. And as he paused his survey of the Pandora feeds to rub at his temples for the umpteenth time in an effort to alleviate the tension, he grumbled his displeasure aloud.

Why had he become human again? Ah, that’s right — the _je ne sais quoi._

Or to feel the sensation of his weathered, textured thumb across plump lips. The satisfaction of a tight grip around a willing, moaning throat. The buck of hips across his thighs. The warmth of being in _his_ arms.

Jack swept a collection of coffee cups at his elbow off the desk in a quick, jerky motion. He paid them no attention as they smashed across the dais, moving instead to glare down at the taunting image of Elpis below. As he stood there, fists tight, he willed himself calm — it would not help for him to lose himself. It would not help _Rhys._ But as he paused to gaze down at his hands, at the traces of blood left by his fingernails, he could do little but stare at the marks in quiet misery. Where once they boasted his power, his victory over the impossible, now they only served to remind him of one, devastating fact.

He was mortal once more.

He was mortal, while the most loyal person in his life was in the hands of the Firehawk. And with Maliwan’s arrival on the scene, things just became a little more urgent. The surprising discovery for Jack, however, was that despite Isaac’s meddling, despite the fact that Jack was _vulnerable,_ his concerns were not immediately self-centred. No — all he could think about was the heavy regret at his inaction in Rhys’ apartment.

When he’d been tempted to reach out and take back what was his. To hold Rhys close and protect him like he damn well should have from the start. It was his own failing for a few reasons — but mostly for the fact that he’d watched and rewatched the footage of Angel’s death and apparently learned _nothing._

And now his stubbornness could get him killed. Or worse — Rhys.

_No._

Jack straightened, glaring at his distorted reflection with vicious, renewed fervour. This wasn’t how things would end. He’d bring Rhys home. Like the goddamn hero he should be.

…so why couldn’t he leave his office?

He did not react to the chirp of his wristwatch, having again dropped his head to stare at the faint lines of blood in his palms.

“Sir,” Blake’s voice came, almost breathless. “We’re being hailed.”

Jack puffed a sharp exhale. “Katagawa?”

“No.”

His eyes snapped wide. He crossed to his desk in the next instant, poised over the interface.

“Transfer it,” he hummed, then added: “Trace it.”

There was a muffled click, and a brief, heavy pause settled. Jack remained frozen in place, staring unseeing through the console beneath his hands.

“Hello, Jack.”

“…Lilith.”

* * *

Rhys blinked himself awake, groaning at the stiff pain in his side. His flesh hand was unresponsive, sending painful, jabbing shocks down his arm as he attempted to wriggle his fingers into action. Upon realizing his sleeping limb was wedged in place, he lifted his head, mouth parting in stunned surprise when he realized why exactly he was stuck.

His arm was pinned _underneath Axton._ The Commando was on the bed next to him, fast asleep, and Rhys was snuggled close — too close — to the muscular blond. He could still feel the warmth of him on his skin, and noted embarrassingly that there was a spot of saliva where his head had been pressed against Axton’s chest.

Rhys drew back in alarm, then hesitated; there was no real way to move without waking him. For the moment all he could do was set his head back down and watch Axton with restrained astonishment. As the soldier dozed, his lips were slightly parted, and his dense chest rose and fell with gentle breaths _._ Rhys fed into the heat emanating off his body, resting his cybernetic hand casually next to this hip, daring for just a minute to feel like this was _right_. Like there was someone who _wanted_ to be there, next to him.

When Rhys was, in actuality, his prisoner.

Rhys briefly closed his eyes, then turned to glance around the room, desperate for some assistance at escaping his awkward situation. He went still when his eyes descended on a familiar sight lingering in the doorway.

The tall figure in sleek, monochromatic armour leaned against the doorframe, silently observing the pair on the bed. While the black void of a helmet made it impossible to read any expression, the persistent stare set Rhys on edge. He exhaled softly, waiting for something — _anything_ — but the Vault Hunter merely tipped their head to the side. When at last Rhys opened his mouth to speak, a red holographic image flickered into view before Zer0’s lack of face, and Rhys bristled at the combination of characters resembling a _heart._

“Okay…” Rhys muttered, flush with anger as he tugged his arm sharply from under Axton. The soldier stirred, lifting his head in wonder.

“Wha—”

Rhys climbed over Axton, careful not to touch him any more than was necessary, and shook his wrist against the painful pins-and-needles sensation stabbing into the flesh. He shuffled to his feet, levelling a look at the Vault Hunter still lingering in the doorway; Zer0’s arms were folded as he remained silent. Axton yawned behind him, and Rhys heard his boots touch down on the floor as the man roused himself.

“Zero. Something up, bud?”

“Sorry to disturb. / Did not know you were sleeping. / If you call it that.”

“So you were just happy to just watch, then?” Rhys barked, eyes narrowing. The Vault Hunter angled a look at Rhys.

“I did not expect / to find Handsome Jack’s play thing / in my ally’s arms.”

“You asshole—”

“Hey, come on, Zero,” Axton sighed, finally on his feet next to Rhys. He didn’t seem bothered in the least, and Rhys couldn’t tell if he was pleased by that, or more pissed off. He shot Axton a dark look, one which the soldier pointedly avoided. “Did you need something?”

“Lilith sent me here / to fetch the prisoner Rhys / and bring him upstairs.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Rhys growled. Axton blanched, at last turning to him with a frown.

“Such hostility. / What ever happened to me / being ‘ _really cool?’”_

Rhys’ eyes narrowed at the familiar words, from almost a year back when Zer0 had saved him and Sasha from becoming skag food. A regrettable moment, when he shyly muttered a compliment to the Vault Hunter. Just one in a great series of embarrassing exchanges during his stint on Pandora.

“That was before I knew you were a _murderer.”_

“I am fairly sure / I was killing marauders / when you and I met.”

Rhys scowled. “You know what I mean. I don’t mean them. I mean _her.”_

Zer0 stared silently at Rhys, arms lowering.

“It was not murder. / The angel beckoned for death. / Jack is to blame here.”

“Oh, did Jack pull the fucking trigger?”

“In a way he did,” Zer0 hummed. “She was a prisoner there, / hardly a daughter.”

“You piece of shit.”

“Rhys,” Axton uttered, tugging on his arm. Rhys turned at the markedly soft tone of Axton’s voice, panting angrily as he glanced his way. “He’s telling the truth, Rhys. I was there.”

“You… you were _there?”_ Rhys paled, eyebrows pinching together at a particularly painful sensation in his chest. “You _…helped…”_

“It’s not like that, Rhys,” Axton swallowed hard. “She really was a prisoner. Jack was using her like a machine. He—”

Axton’s head snapped to the side as Rhys punched him. The soldier pivoted slightly with the blow, but recovered quickly, grabbing Rhys’ wrists. Despite the blinding pain in his hand, Rhys struggled, fighting to pull away from the strong grip when a flare of blue light _flashed_ in his vision. He flinched at the sight of the sword lingering in the air directly beneath his chin.

“Zero!” Axton growled. “Back off. I’ve got this under control.”

“Is that what you call it?”

Rhys turned his head just enough to see Lilith had appeared at the door.

“It’s fine, Lil’, I swear,” Axton mumbled. “Just a misunderstanding.”

Zer0 stepped away, withdrawing the sword. He passed Lilith and she nodded to him, eyes remaining on Axton.

“A misunderstanding. _Sure_.” 

Axton’s expression shifted to something pained. Rhys blinked at him, willing his heart to stop racing. He had just _punched_ the soldier, and yet he was still defending him. 

“He’s _fine_ —”

“We’ll discuss this later,” Lilith growled, turning her attention to Rhys. “Come on, kid. You don’t want to keep your _lover_ waiting, do you?”

Rhys perked up, feeling his chest tighten. “What?”

“I’ve got Jack on hold upstairs,” she said, nodding toward the hallway. “Negotiations. He wants to make sure you’re still breathing.”

Rhys moved to follow her a little too quickly to notice Axton’s hesitation. He strode after her down the hallway, feeling a tight eagerness in his step. A distant hum of conversation echoed down a stairwell and Rhys’ heart leapt at the sound of a recognizable voice.

“— _taking her damn time._ ”

Lilith paused in the doorway, managing to block Rhys’ desperate entry. In the small room, Mordecai sat in a tipped-back chair, feet up and crossed on a holo-table. An _ever familiar_ blue shape glowed brightly in the space over his boots, which sent something warm blooming inside of Rhys.

“What, you got somewhere better to be?” Mordecai jeered, cracking a shit-eating grin. The hologram flickered.

“If I don’t see Rhys in _five fucking seconds_ , I’m going to—”

“Jack!”

The hologram turned sharply at Rhys’ voice; hard lines of hatred in Jack’s mask faded immediately.

_“Kitten.”_

Rhys felt a flush of red cross his features as Lilith shoved him into the room. He did his best to ignore the smirking sniper who mouthed _‘kitten?’_ his way, lifting his head to greet Jack.

“Okay, Jack. You get five minutes.”

“Alone.”

“Not happening,” Lilith snapped. “Clock is ticking.”

Jack growled at Lilith before turning back to Rhys, and his expression softened.

“Hey, Rhysie. How you doin’? They treating you well? Because if I see one goddamn scratch on you, I’ll raze—”

“I’m fine, Jack,” Rhys smiled, ignoring the lance of pain in his knuckles. “Really. Perfectly fine. You don’t gotta worry.”

“I _do_ , kiddo,” Jack replied with a tight look. “I got you into a mess with the worst scum on Pandora. I’m sorry for that.”

“It’s okay, Jack.”

“No. It’s not. I’m going to get you home. I promise.”

 _Home_. That wonderful warmth returned to his chest. Rhys briefly closed his eyes, nodding wordlessly at the hologram. Well, that was a welcome surprise. Maybe Jack really _did_ care.

“You just hang in there, kiddo. I’m—”

Jack faltered, his line of sight drawing up and over Rhys’ shoulder. Rhys turned in alarm, expecting to see Zer0 standing behind him, but it was only Axton. The soldier’s face was etched with concern. His eyes, however, lingered not on Jack, but on Rhys. 

Rhys watched him for an extra second, struggling to read his expression. He shrugged in defeat, turning back to the waiting hologram.

“I’m okay, Jack. I swear.”

Jack did not answer. He glared silently at Axton, with some mixture of loathing and what Rhys worried to be suspicion. And while he knew Jack wouldn’t know the significance of it, Rhys wondered if his saliva still visibly dotted Axton’s jacket. 

“Jack?”

“The Commando…” Jack spat.

Axton shifted in place, but didn’t seem intimidated in the least. “The one and only.”

“Still crawling around in the dirt, I see.”

“Better crawling in the dirt,” Axton lifted his head. “Than to be six feet under it.”

Rhys shivered, dropping his eyes to the floor. He didn’t need to be looking at Jack to feel the burning intensity of his expression.

“Rhys.”

He flinched at his name, gazing fearfully toward Jack. The hologram was still rigid with anger, but as long as he was looking at Rhys, the hostility did not last. Which — _wow._ That was new. In fact, the whole exchange seemed peculiarly charged, as if Jack was struggling to maintain his fury in the face of...what, exactly?

“I’m going to get some things settled on this side, and get you back soon. You stay safe.” Jack’s voice was strained, but somehow still warm. “Love you, kitten.”

Rhys’ heart stopped. For a very long moment, he couldn’t respond. His eyes widened as he searched Jack’s expectant face hovering before him.

“I…” Rhys mumbled as his brain short circuited. “… _yeah_. You, too, Jack.”

The blue light winked out, and Rhys found himself frozen, staring into nothing. The room was silent, except for the hum of the various mechanical devices around him. Finally, Mordecai coughed awkwardly, and Rhys turned briefly to see Lilith roll her eyes.

“Well, that was fun,” she grunted in a contradictory tone. “Come on, Rhys. Back to your cell. I’ve got somewhere I need to be.”

Rhys curtly nodded his response, turning for the door. He felt flushed, vibrating with warmth. And despite the heady, dramatic rush of endorphins, something niggled at the back of his mind when he noticed Axton had disappeared from the doorway. But the sensation faded away beneath the wash of Jack’s words.

 _Love you, kitten_. 

* * *

The area of Pandora known as “the Dust” was little more than an arid wasteland reaching over vast swaths of the planet’s surface. It was an expansive stretch of jagged rock bluffs and endless sand dunes, dotted with countless bandit encampments connected by poorly tended roadways. Nothing more than a godforsaken hellhole, of few resources and even fewer reasons for Timothy to be standing at the edge of a barren cliffside at the centre of it all, scanning the bleak horizon as drones hovered around his head.

Timothy’s eyes swept across the chaotic landscape, lingering on the ridges thrust high into the sky by tectonic shifts. They were massive, and imposing in their own right, but there was something about the gnarled wreckage and twisted metal that laid about the craggy cliffs in massive, skeletal piles that lent even more to their fierce majesty, breaking from the otherwise monotonous vistas.

With a deft flick of his fingertips across his watch, Tim sent the drones at his shoulder down into the area below to scan the vicinity. As he watched them descend amongst the treacherous bluffs, displacing sand as they hovered close to the ground, he eased against the rock where he stood, folding his arms over his chest.

“Alright,” he hummed. “Talk to me.”

“Well, let’s see.”

The small, brutish man at his side reached for the battered datapad on his hip, scratching at the stubble on his chin as he lifted it into the air. “Wreck Site Alpha. The smallest of the impact sites, but the most hotly contested. Quite a few bandits had to be beaten back once that flying shithole hit the dirt.”

Timothy tossed the engineer an impatient look — one that he could not see for the helmet Tim wore, but seemed to understand nonetheless. He cleared his throat, tapping rapidly against the datapad.

“The wreckage includes the destroyed structure of the main Crimson Raider HQ. Which was... _tiny_. But a number of crates and chests survived the impact. We recovered everything valuable from the scene, including the few things scavenged by the local populace. What, uh…”

The man grunted, lifting his head to stare at Tim. “What was it exactly you were lookin’ for?”

Timothy exhaled through his nose. “A trail.”

His hand dropped to the digistruct device on his thigh, and a Hyperion Reaper pistol was summoned to his grip. The engineer took a shuffling side step, eyes wide, but Timothy ignored him as he dropped over the edge.

At the first moment of his descent, his stomach did a flip as he gauged the distance between him and the ground. He swallowed the brief flicker of fear, leaning back to slide down the steep terrain. Timothy never really got over his fear of heights — he just got better at masking it. Especially when more important, urgent matters lingered in his mind.

At the bottom, he stumbled to a halt, coming to rest on the sand. The drones he had dispersed were still in flight, producing a general buzzing through the area.

Timothy approached the wreckage quietly, looking about with some trepidation. The drones would have alerted him to any signs of life, but there were many hidden and dark corners amongst the downed buildings and massive boulders. He kept low, moving swiftly but smoothly as he darted from cover to cover.

Before long, he found the building the engineer had mentioned. Well — what was left of it, anyway. It had been a two or three storey structure, but was now reduced to one, with a torn “Join the Crimson Raiders” banner flapping uselessly in the breeze. Timothy’s attention lingered on Roland’s proud image before he rolled his eyes and moved on.

Upon approaching the scene, he gazed toward the ground. There were the expected tracks: loader bots, cleanup crew, and likely some bandits. They had been very careful to pick the scene bare, and lay waste to traces of the Raiders while they worked. Timothy snorted as he scanned the rubble, visibly sagging as a feeling of futility washed over him.

Regardless, he had to do _something_. For Rhys’ sake.

Timothy moved to what used to be the second floor balcony of the building, and now stood crumbling against the ground. He crouched, almost on his knees as he slipped past the threshold and into the cave-like room. There were various empty loot boxes here, a chair turned on its side, numerous smashed beer bottles, and a holo-table broken in half. Timothy moved to the table, swiping a hand to clear the rock dust that had settled over its surface. He retrieved a power bank from his inventory, stooping to plug it into the half of the console that remained. Sure enough, the table didn’t even flicker, and Tim dropped his forehead against it in frustration.

He hadn’t actually expected to find anything in the shell of the Raider’s home that would point him in their direction. They had very likely scattered during the attack, with few places offering the protection that Sanctuary had provided from the Helios moonshots. Now that they were gone, there was little to be found within the husk of their former headquarters.

This was pointless, and it was _frustrating._ Rhys was out there somewhere, and there was little to be done. But what troubled Timothy the most was that he was painfully distracted, finding his mind more and more occupied by the revelation Isaac had dropped on him like a tonne of bricks.

So Jack had died after all. Timothy had always suspected something strange happened, given the casino lockdown. Jack definitely wasn’t above faking his death if it meant taking advantage of a situation, only to return to come out on top. But that was not the case — he had _lost_ as a result of his death, and Timothy had always struggled to resolve the contradiction in his head. Until now, of course.

Jack wasn’t Jack. But he _was?_ He was _Jack 2.0_. So what did that mean?

He still handed out orders. He was still as confident and hostile as ever. And he was still, most notably, vulnerable. So while Timothy was left confused, caught in the existential argument of “but is he _really_ Jack?”, he could but come to one conclusion.

That in the end, it meant absolutely nothing. Jack was Jack, and Timothy worked for him. He supposed the only difference now was that this version of the man had the original Jack’s gruesome failures to draw on as experience. He had the opportunity to learn from the past. But would it be enough, especially with Rhys’ life in danger?

Well, _shit_. The fact that Rhys was a factor at all meant that, yes, things _had_ changed. It was evident in the sound of Jack’s voice, the tight lines of his face, the frantic desperation when he’d turned to Timothy and made his request: _“find Rhys.”_

And he would. He _had_ to. But how?

Timothy sighed heavily before adjusting his grip on the Reaper to tap at his wristwatch.

“21-C checking in,” he hummed. “Nothing usable at Alpha site.”

He turned, crouching again to crawl out the doorway.

“Going to head South to Overlook to see if they know anything. Might be some rumours floating…”

A peculiar ripple of dread trickled down Timothy’s spine, causing him to stiffen. He tilted his head, angling to listen carefully to the bizarre, foreboding silence cascading around him. Another beat passed before he lifted his eyes to the sky, and he froze upon noticing that none of his drones remained in sight.

With slow, methodical movements, Timothy dropped his hand to his Reaper. He double checked the clip, before cocking it with a very audible _click_.

The flurry of motion in his peripherals that this action seemed to trigger spurred Timothy to _move_. A surge of energy rippled through his haunches and he took off into a sprint, darting over the sand for a rock outcropping opposite the doorway.

Something flashed by him, terrifyingly quick to intercept his escape path. Just as his would-be attacker moved into position, Timothy dropped into a slide, blindly firing off a few rounds before he regained his footing.

And as he rose, he caught a swift kick to the face.

Timothy’s head snapped back, but he managed to recover relatively quickly. His helmet, on the other hand, went flying, making a graceful arc through the air before smashing amidst the rubble and rebar behind him.

He landed with his back against the jagged rock, Reaper hefted into the air. But the imminent assault never came, and at his attacker’s hesitance to approach, Timothy lifted his head. He stiffened, sighed, then casually ran fingers through his hair.

Timothy pushed onto his feet and roused his best _Handsome Jack_ demeanour, quirking an eyebrow with a cocky smirk. A heavy few seconds passed as Lilith did nothing but stare back at him. Then her expression shifted into disgust, and Timothy held his ground despite the shiver down his back.

“Heya, Lilith.”

The lithe redhead stood proudly across from him, eyes aflame as she scanned his face. The air rippled with heat distortion around her frame, and her tattooed flesh pulsed with hostility.

“Of _course…_ ” she drawled. “Hello, ‘Jack.’”

“Long time.”

“Not long enough,” she growled, eyes narrowed to slits. “What the hell are you doing here? I thought your Hyperion lackeys were done sifting through their path of destruction.”

“I’m on the hunt,” Timothy admitted, careful to keep his distance as Lilith prowled around him like a stalker. “Looking for a heartless, deceptive _bitch_. Maybe you’ve seen her.”

Lilith tilted her head. “Well. Look who went and grew a spine.”

“Had to,” Tim snapped. “Only so much you can take, getting walked over by pieces of shit like you.”

“Really. You blame _me_ for what went down? Not Jack?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Lilith raised her head ever slightly, as if reassessing him. The sharp look of distaste, however, remained. “So. What brings you here, Doppel-Jack?”

Timothy’s lip curled into a snarl. “Where is Rhys?”

“Ah...there it is.” A wide, tight smile crept across Lilith’s face. She rested a hand on her hip, slinging a bag over her shoulder. Timothy glanced toward the bag in question, just long enough to glimpse it without garnering suspicion. It looked heavy, but hardly large enough to be bearing a vault key.

“What _is_ the appeal of that lanky little man?” she snorted. “Doesn’t look like anything special to me. Can hardly take a punch, that’s for sure.”

Timothy schooled his expression, but something fiercely protective shot through his chest. “He’s a good person.”

“Handsome Jack does not spend his time with _good_ people.”

“I guess you would know, huh?”

Again, Lilith’s eyes narrowed. Timothy’s grip on the Reaper tightened, as he staved off his _flight_ instincts to stand his ground. But as the tendrils of heated air flickered around Lilith’s arm, he fully understood that escaping would be more prudent than trying to fight.

“I’ll never understand the obsession.” Lilith set to pacing the small area. She maintained her distance, but the predatory behaviour set Timothy on edge. “How does such a despotic, hateful ruler inspire such blind devotion?”

“That...is a good question,” Timothy grunted. “I’ll have to ask the Crimson Raiders, next time I see them.”

That did it. The distorted air around Lilith _erupted_ , sending a clap of flames high into the sky. She was almost upon Timothy in the next instant, but he dropped to the side in anticipation, rolling across the sand. He quickly found his feet, firing over his shoulder while he passed beyond the rocky outcropping.

As Timothy slipped past a collection of jagged, tall rocks arcing skyward from the ground, he spat orders into his wristwatch. “Requesting reinforcements. Send—”

The air ahead of him rippled; Timothy stumbled to an abrupt halt. Lilith emerged from her Phasewalk, and the resulting shockwave was enough to throw him off his feet.

His back collided with rock in a sickening _crunch_. Tim cried out in pain, feeling the loss of the Reaper from his grip as he slipped to the ground. An overwhelming taste of copper filled his mouth as intense pain flared through his torso. He struggled to get back on his legs, but winced at the _click_ of something broken in his chest.

“Damn,” he coughed, spitting blood onto the sand. Lilith chuckled upon approach, looming over his hunched form. Flames licked up and down her arm. Timothy lifted his head in minor rebellion, careful to scan the Siren as she smirked at him, eyes tight with glee.

“As the leader of a humble rebellion,” he started, flinching at a troubling lance of pain. “You seem to be getting a little too much enjoyment out of _murder_.”

Lilith’s eyes flashed, and she closed the remaining distance between them to crouch at his boots.

“You’re right. Your death won’t make up for Roland,” she murmured, staring hard into his eyes. “...but Rhys’ might.”

Timothy’s eyes snapped wide. A fresh fury washed over him, and as Lilith reached forward, hand wreathed in flame, he stabbed a finger into his wristwatch.

_“And the world just got twenty-five percent more handsome!”_

A volley of gunfire filled the air. Lilith reared back with an incoherent scream. Timothy took the opportunity to roll, wincing past the immense pain as two digistructed forms surrounded him and fired relentlessly toward the Siren. She snarled in rage before disappearing behind cover.

“Coward!”

“Are you kidding?” Timothy spat, dragging himself through the sand. “When you want to shed those Siren powers of yours and fight fair, _then_ we’ll talk, sweetheart.”

Her response was nothing more than a distant _crack_ , followed by silence. Timothy gazed over his shoulder in disbelief, just in time to see the dissipation of light where she’d teleported away. Nothing remained aside from a patterned wave amongst the crystallized sand.

Relief and exhaustion and _horror_ shook through Timothy’s frame, as he allowed himself to rest his head on the ground. The sand bit into his forehead and he took a few heavy, albeit agonizing breaths before closing his eyes.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “I need a hypo.”

“ _Jack, here! The real one!_ ”

He glanced icily toward the Digi-Jack, wincing upon noticing it staring straight back at him. Its appearance had been updated, wearing Jack’s new wardrobe and haunting mask. Its brother stood nearby, likewise turned to where Timothy was splayed across the ground. Tim grunted, pushing onto his hands and knees before reaching for the Reaper discarded in the sand.

“Yeah, yeah…” he growled, turning to sit on his ass. He cast another look to the holograms, who were ever protective of his injured form. “I missed you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zer0 in description, Zero in dialogue. Don't ask why, it's just a thing I started doing and never stopped.
> 
> Poor Tim, having an existential crisis.


	19. Heya, Rhysie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, is this an _Axton_ chapter!?
> 
> Yes. Yes it is.

Standing outside of his personal quarters turned prison cell, Axton stared at the door handle and found his hands twitching. He had been intent on the war room, having promised to assist Mordecai in some likely mindless task, but couldn’t help stumbling to a stop along the way, suddenly gripped by a strange compulsion that he couldn’t name. A relative silence lingered in the hallways, as most of the civilians that had tagged along following Sanctuary’s downfall were smart enough to keep their heads down as long as there wasn’t a shield above them, but for the first time the quiet atmosphere had Axton feeling unnerved. It left him alone with encroaching thoughts that he’d been doing his damnedest to ignore up to that point.

So, well — Rhys was kind of sweet. Axton had expected typical guard duty when he had first been sent to watch over the Hyperion employee, but Rhys had taken him by surprise from the very start. And while some of it had to do with the fact that he had turned into a blushing, stuttering mess upon recognizing Axton — _hello, ego boost_ — there was something else. His eyes maybe. Or the peculiar bravery hidden underneath that timid exterior. 

He was fond of the kid. That was all. Really. And it definitely had nothing to do with Rhys having fallen asleep pressed against Axton’s side, leaving the Commando to silently question all of his decisions before eventually drifting off to the sound of soft breathing.

Regardless of what it was, it was certainly strong enough to stop Axton in his tracks, a pause for him to scan his mind for an excuse to turn the handle on the door and head inside.

Instead, he remembered the look on Rhys’ face at the mention of Jack’s name. His excitement. The words the hologram had uttered back.

Axton’s stomach flipped over, and at last he managed to turn his back on the door. And while he happened to pass a few hesitant glances over his shoulder as he continued on his way, he at last managed to escape that dark, empty hallway.

When he strode into the war room, Mordecai was already working. Axton proceeded to his usual corner, wordlessly sinking into the seat before kicking his legs up onto a nearby ammo crate. The sniper barely seemed to notice his presence, currently absorbed in whatever the hell it was he was doing. He was leaning forward, reaching out to manipulate the map over the holo-table, and busily mumbled to himself as he quickly passed over already highlighted portions of Pandora’s surface. He uttered curses beneath his breath every so often, waving his fingers as he scanned the hologram, and Axton simply tilted his head and stared. The Commando couldn’t understand what it was that Mordecai was muttering, but he knew frustration when he saw it.

“What’s up, Mordecai?” Axton asked, passing a glance over a collection of beer cans on the table. “How long you been here…?”

“Couple hours,” Mordecai grunted, not even looking up.

“Dude,” Ax shifted in his seat. “Take a break. At least get something to eat.”

“I can’t. That key is still out there somewhere. We gotta get to it before Jack does.”

Axton couldn’t help but snort at the mention of Jack’s name; his fingers clenched into tight fists.

“Remind me how we lost it?”

Mordecai did not respond, and instead straightened, turned, and started to slowly pace around the room. Axton watched the erratic movement with unease. “…Mordecai?”

“I dropped it,” he relented with a hiss, throwing his arms up into the air. “Sanctuary was falling out of the _sky,_ man. I panicked.”

Axton’s brows shot up. His boots thudded against the floor as he sat forward in his chair. “You dropped it from all the way up there?”

“Yeah.” Mordecai growled. He swung an arm, angrily smacking a can off of the table. It crashed against the wall before rolling across the floor to bump Axton’s foot. The Commando simply stared at it for a heavy moment as Mordecai’s admission sunk in.

“Well…shit. It could be anywhere. What’d Lilith say?”

“Not much.” Mordecai nervously rubbed at his bearded chin. “She just got quiet. Like, _scary_ quiet. You know how she is.”

Axton gave a mute nod. He knew exactly what Mordecai meant. Lilith hadn’t been the same since Handsome Jack’s pistol punched a hole through her boyfriend’s back. Axton remembered it well — he had been frozen with shock as Roland’s blood splattered across him, and Jack had sneered straight into his face.

_Don’t pick a fight with a man with nothing left to lose._

Axton growled at the memory. The incident left its mark on all of them, but Lilith fared the worst. She drifted for a while, hesitant to take up command of the Crimson Raiders, but once she did, she became resolute. She was fiercely determined to fulfill Roland’s dream, and lead the Raiders to glory. 

But after Axton repaid the favour with a bullet to Handsome Jack’s skull, and life went on, the anti-Hyperion passions faded, leaving Lilith to grow desperate. Unpredictable.

Axton shot an uneasy glance toward the open door of the war room. “Where is she, by the way?”

“Went to find the old HQ,” Mordecai put his back against the wall. “Probably looking for the key.”

“No way Jack hasn’t picked that place clean,” Axton growled. “Friggin’ _douchebag_.”

Mordecai shot Axton a suspicious look, but it disappeared just as quickly. Axton barely noticed it as he leaned forward to crack his knuckles.

“Are you worried about Lilith?”

Axton shrugged. “Yeah. You?”

“She’s been really weird since we put the memorial up at Roland’s Rest. I’m not sure she’s come to terms with everything.”

“Well, that stupid little game you played with Tina probably didn’t help.”

“I’ll admit I wasn’t into Bunkers and Badasses at first,” Mordecai snapped. “But it wasn’t about the game. It was about a little girl coping with grief.”

Axton blinked at the sniper. Mordecai was a lot softer than people gave him credit, and it came out in unusual ways. Between his supportive role for the wayward youth of Pandora and his bizarre relationships with his birds, he wasn’t exactly the disgruntled loner Axton had initially figured him to be.

“ _Okay…_ ” was all he could offer. He still didn’t like Tina.

“Whatever, man. I just wanna make sure Lilith doesn’t do something crazy. Like—”

“Like _what?”_

The temperature of the room seemed to increase as Lilith strode in and hefted a bag onto the table. She barely bothered looking at Mordecai, seemingly already disinterested in what he had to say.

“Lil’, I—”

“Save it,” she spat, rifling through the bag.

Axton jumped in, quick to change the subject. “You find anything?”

“Not much,” she sighed, dragging a few bars of glowing eridium onto the table. “Bandits hit it first. Then Hyperion. No key. Hopefully it isn’t crushed somewhere under what’s left of Sanctuary.”

“I guess Tannis didn’t make a copy of that star map?” Mordecai asked, sounding hopeful.

Lilith shook her head.

“You think Jack has it?”

Lilith set her attention on Axton, and her stare left him feeling unsettled; he dropped his eyes to the bag in evasion.

“Actually, no,” she said with a smirk. “In fact, they seem a little distracted.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I ran into an old friend in the ruins,” she cackled. “And he was looking for _Rhys_.”

Axton wasn’t sure why that set him on edge. Or why he felt a pulse of hostility, bristling defensively at Lilith’s dark laughter.

“What happened with negotiations? Did you come to any terms?”

“I told Jack if he wanted his little toy back, he’d have to play ball,” Lilith pushed the bag and eridium to the side to scan over the map. Mordecai’s face seemed to fall as she scattered the layers he’d placed across the interface. “I let him know that I expected Hyperion to withdraw from everywhere North of the Highlands.”

 _He’s not a toy_. Axton stifled the impulse, swallowing hard. “But _not_ the Highlands? I guess they’re dug in pretty deep there with Opportunity.”

“We’ll just have to wait and see,” Lilith gestured over the table. “It all depends on how desperate he is to bring Rhys home.”

At this, Axton exchanged looks with Mordecai.

“Oh — and speaking of Rhys…” she reached forward and snagged the bag off the table. “I have a little something for him.”

Something fierce tugged at Axton’s chest as he watched Lilith head for the door. He was on his feet in the next instant, ignoring that Mordecai's head followed his movements as he chased her down.

When the pair arrived at Axton’s room, they found Rhys sitting on the floor, staring dejectedly at the palm of his metal hand. For a moment, Axton was caught off guard by the scene, watchful of Rhys’ downturned lips and half-lidded eyes as he considered the disabled prosthetic. He looked tired. _Lost._ But as Lilith strode into the room, his expression was quick to shift into something downright wary, leaving him to press his back against the bunk at Lilith’s coy smile.

“Hey there, Rhys. I picked up a little something you might want.”

Rhys lingered briefly on Lilith’s outstretched hand before his face contorted with disgust.

“You’re joking...right?”

“Not at all,” Lilith straightened, drawing her arm up to loosely spin what looked to be a makeshift collar around her finger. Axton recognized it immediately, and his stomach did a nauseating flip.

_Ah, shit._

“There’s no way I’m letting you put that on me,” Rhys growled.

“That’s a shame,” she cooed. “I just figured you’d want to get out of this room for a while…”

“Wait, what?”

“This,” Lilith hummed, turning the collar over in her hand. “Will give you room to breathe. You’ll have access to some of the camp, including the shower facilities.”

Axton swallowed his curses, gazing toward the door as if considering a hasty retreat. It sickened him to be party to her lies, but he also wasn’t about to leave Lilith alone with poor Rhys. Regardless, it was particularly hard to watch, and a useless feeling took hold at the sound of Rhys pushing to his feet to cross the room.

“Really?” Rhys asked carefully, tentatively accepting the collar. He turned it over in his hands as if inspecting it.

“You’ll still have an escort,” Lilith continued. “And you’ll get a nice little shock if you try to move out of range. But at least you can stretch those long legs of yours once in a while now.”

“Did it really have to be a collar?”

Rhys’ quiet yelp snagged Axton’s attention back in time to catch Lilith gripping the other man by the chin. Rhys shrivelled within her grip in minute fear; Axton’s hand instinctively fell to his digistruct pack.

“You’re lucky to get anything at all, Hyperion. Count your blessings.”

“You’re right…” Rhys sneered in her grip, a rebellious streak that did not fail to send Axton’s heart fluttering. “So what’s the catch?”

A smile curled over Lilith’s face; she released his chin.

“No catch. Part of our deal with your _lover.”_

Axton and Rhys seemed to simultaneously wince. The Hyperion employee looked his way in confusion, but Axton was quick to avoid the gaze, turning his attention to the cracked mirror on the wall instead. Rhys was right to be suspicious, but after a couple days locked in one room anyone would start to get desperate.

“I can’t say I believe you,” Rhys sighed. “But I suppose I don’t really have a choice.”

He dipped his head to let Lilith adjust the collar around his neck. It flickered to life, glowing a familiar purple hue as it locked into place. In the fractured reflection of the mirror, Axton stared hatefully at the collar as it rested against Rhys’ skin.

“There you go.” Lilith’s sing-song response made him feel sick. “Don’t you look pretty.”

Rhys said nothing.

The Firehawk straightened, taking a step back as if to admire her handiwork. Rhys in turn sank into his bunk to tentatively press at the collar with his fingertips. The futility of the exchange left Axton feeling pointless, shoving his hands into his pockets. He missed the look Lilith gave him as she moved to leave.

“Oh, and one more thing…”

She reached into the bag, retrieving a psycho mask to obscure her face. “If you go outside, you’ll have to cover up. Don’t want that face or arm of yours showing up on any drone feeds.”

Lilith tossed the mask to Rhys, and he fumbled the catch, barely grasping on its edges. She laughed again as she left the room, and Rhys dropped his crestfallen stare to the thing in his hands. It looked and probably smelled terrible, and even from where Axton stood he swore he could still see dried blood on the edges.

“…sorry.”

Rhys passed him a surprised look before frowning, giving a defeated shrug in response. Axton slowly made his way across the room, hesitantly sinking into the bunk at Rhys’ side.

“Whatever,” he murmured. “I just hope this ends soon.”

Axton opened his mouth, then closed it, shifting his foot away from Rhys’. For a few minutes, neither of them spoke, and for the first time between them the silence was uncomfortable. It troubled Axton, when all he really wanted to do was reach out and console Rhys.

He had trouble reminding himself that Rhys was his _prisoner_ , and not something more.

“How does it fit?”

“It’s a little snug…” Rhys’ reply was quiet; he prodded at the skin of his neck.

“Well,” Axton frowned. “Wasn’t made for you, was it.”

Rhys gave him a conflicting look, and Axton shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny before offering a shy smile. “Look at you. I feel like we oughta give you a nickname.”

“What?” Rhys blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You know…” Axton reached forward to jab at the collar. “Like _Spot.”_

Rhys paused in disbelief, before a rebellious smirk skirted over his face. “You’re a _dick,_ Ax.”

He hadn’t failed to notice the nickname Rhys had taken to using. But it was better to ignore it. What he couldn’t ignore, however, was the way Rhys leaned into his chest when Axton rested a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey,” he hummed, lips not far from Rhys’ ear. “Wanna get out of here? Go for a walk to ' _stretch those long legs of yours?'”_

Rhys’ eyes lit up, and Axton’s heart palpated. “Hell yes.”

* * *

“Bring up the map.”

Blake acquiesced from where he stood at the console on Jack’s desk. An image of Pandora took shape between them; a sizeable chunk was highlighted, isolated, and flattened out. As it lowered into place, Jack leaned forward, gripping the edge of the desk to survey the indicators that sprung up before his eyes.

“If you’re going to colour code it, at least leave a fucking legend for me to understand your bullshit.”

“The green markers are facilities we’ve held from the start,” Blake explained without missing a beat. “The blue are places we’ve taken back in the last few months. And the red ones are abandoned.”

Jack went quiet, scrutinizing the map in muted fury. As he stood there, he paused to take notice of a minor shake that developed in his hands. He immediately tucked them against his flanks, folded his arms, and furrowed his brow.

“Empty them,” he growled. “The Friendship Gulag, Lynchwood, all of it. Up to Overlook.”

Blake’s eyes widened.

“Sir, we’ve spent considerable resources taking many of those locations back. Are you certain—”

“Of _course_ not,” he spat. “Just do it.”

Blake eased back, and made the wise choice to shut his goddamn mouth. Jack rubbed at the clasp on his chin, feeling the snarl taking shape under his hand. Lilith had asked for everything but the _moon_. And he expected her to demand even that, before this was over.

“Now add those Maliwan idiots.”

Blake manipulated the controls, setting a secondary overlay to light up the display. Maliwan’s pompous dreadnoughts appeared over the Dead Sands, followed by numerous red dots of varying sizes springing up all across the map. Jack’s mask contorted; he seethed a heavy sigh.

“Those shit-eating _rats,”_ he snarled. “They’re jumping right in, huh?”

“We’ve sent a request for parley to Katagawa, but he has yet to respond.”

“Probably because he’s not a fucking _pirate_ , Jeffrey.”

Blake’s eyebrows snapped high. He lifted his head, but as Jack set a glare on him, he immediately returned his attention to the map.

“Are they even aware of what to look for?”

“Depends on what Andrews gave them,” Jack grunted. “But he won’t crack. He’d sooner die than lose this little game of his. I’m almost ready to feed that fucker his own entrails.”

“What would you like to do?” Blake asked with a frown. “Maliwan hasn’t outright declared _war_ , but this is a clear violation of Hyperion territory.”

“We need to retreat and defend at the same goddamn time.” Jack tapped his yet-bruised knuckles on the edge of the desk. “What is the Jackpot yield?”

Blake checked. “Significant enough, I suppose. But it could take a few days to arrive. Shall I—”

“No,” Jack waved a hand. “Forget it. Not worth spoiling that surprise if we can’t hit them hard and fast. Just focus on finding those damn bandits.”

“All of our drones have been sent out,” Blake nodded. “With any luck, we’ll catch a glimpse of where the Crimson Raiders might be hiding.”

“And Tim?”

“He checked in some time ago. Nothing was discovered at the crash site. He’s moving on to Overlook.”

Jack went silent. He leaned forward, fighting against the quietly bubbling fury in his chest. It had a peculiar grip on him, a simmering desperation that permeated through his mind and his heart. Despite the rampant chaos of what was happening on Pandora, and the sudden realization that he was, once again, _pathetically mortal_ , Jack found he could only focus on one thing.

He had to find Rhys. He had to bring him home.

“I’m going.”

“Sir, I can’t advise that,” Blake gave a futile gesture. “They’ll be expecting that. They’re _waiting_ for that. We can’t risk it. Not now.”

Jack sank to his haunches. He pressed his forehead to the table, squeezing his eyes shut against the storm raging in his skull — and something else that had begun to follow everywhere he went.

“…sir…I understand that you—”

“Empty the facilities North of Overlook but keep surveillance running at each. Send down every loader bot and trooper we have to scour the known bandit hideouts and towns. Enlist whatever mercs you can to stir up trouble and distract Maliwan. Now…”

Jack lifted his head, just enough to shoot Blake a solitary, hostile glare. “Leave. Me. Alone.”

Blake left with haste, but not before giving him a peculiar look. Jack recognized it instantly, and despised it for what it was. He didn’t need Blake’s pity. Not when he already had enough bullshit to contend with. But the reason for Blake’s response to his behaviour was understandable. Even now, Jack was not himself. Despite the cursing, the standard vitriol and acerbic bite to his words, he was less of _Handsome Jack_ and more, well, just that — _pitiful._

In Blake’s absence, Jack had remained in place, crouched at the desk with his head pressed against the side. It took everything he had not to upend the desk and destroy whatever he could get his hands on. He was pretty sure he couldn’t even upend the desk anyway, built into the floor as it was, but he was damn well tempted to try. Jack took a deep breath, pivoted, and sat with his back against it instead.

His eyes lingered on the couch near the entrance to his office before he thickly swallowed against a dry throat, lifting a hand to bury his face.

How had everything gone to shit so quickly? Jack was loath to admit he had drastically underestimated Isaac Andrews. He should’ve airlocked him that day he dared to put his hands on Rhys. But really, there were a great many things he’d done wrong since then.

With a groan, he moved his face into his arms. He’d noticed a strange heaviness had begun to tug at his shoulders, dragging in every step and fogging his mind. He found it difficult to make decisions, right when it was so crucial. As he slipped sideways, feeling the cold press of the floor against his cheek, his eyelids drooped low, and his stomach gave a petulant growl.

“Jack…”

Rhys’ fingers stroked deftly through his hair, and Jack leaned into it.

“Heya, Rhysie,” he mumbled, turning into his palm. He inhaled, feeling a relaxing wash of relief at his touch. “You smell good.”

A chuckle reverberated in Rhys’ chest. Jack could feel his warmth as he leaned forward to press a kiss onto his temple, just above the clasp.

“When’s the last time you ate, Jack?”

“I ‘unno.”

“Or _slept?_ ” Rhys smirked. “Jack, get a grip. You can’t function when you don’t sleep.”

“Sleep is for the weak, Rhysie,” Jack yawned. “Besides. I have to find you.”

“I know, Jack.”

“I have to save you.”

“I know.”

Jack closed his eyes, drifting past the floor into some space in the void of Helios’ structure. Then Rhys’ warmth was around him in a soft cocoon. Even his cybernetic arm pulsed with heat, tugging Jack back against his chest. Jack moaned softly as he felt Rhys nose at his ear before his face was burying itself into the hair at the back of his head.

“I shouldn’t have left your apartment, Rhysie.”

Rhys didn’t answer. He simply breathed deep in Jack’s hair, which sent a delicious curl through the older man’s stomach.

“I should’ve grabbed you and held you,” he went on, voice dipping to a slur. “Shoulda given you what you wanted. What you needed.”

Rhys’ fingers dipped down Jack’s arm, tracing the lines of his tattoo. He pressed another kiss against his neck, and Jack’s eyebrows pinched together. He was supposed to be the _hero_ , damn it. Not backed into a corner. Not vulnerable. Not _useless_.

“Rhys.”

“Yeah, Jack?”

He folded back into Rhys’ touch, fading away as the desperate call for sleep nudged at his mind.

“I love you, Rhys.”

“I know, Jack.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack slowly losing his mind.
> 
> Next chapter: shit gets real.


	20. An Unexpected Visitor

Rhys woke to a dark room, sitting up in his stiff bunk with a groan. Pressing a hand to his head, he winced at the deep throbbing in his skull as he turned to drop his feet onto the floor. It took a few moments to shake off the remnants of his sleep, images of Axton and Jack that swirled in a maddening chaos that left him feeling ill with uncertainty. But like most of his dreams, it faded quickly from his memory. And though his slumber had been turbulent, it had not been enough to force him awake. He shivered against a persistent, unsettling sensation that seemed to permeate the air around him.

He was gripped with a quiet, nagging feeling like he was being _watched._ But just as he wondered at the time, absentmindedly brushing fingertips across the collar around his neck, the sound of a soft exhale reached his ears. Rhys froze in place, but for a very cold shiver that ran down his back.

“Well… aren’t _you_ an interesting find.”

Rhys slowly lifted his head as something nervous gnawed its way through his gut. His gaze narrowed upon a dark outline of someone standing in the doorway, a figure backlit by a distant light from down the hall. The form was tall, lanky, almost similar to Zer0 in build. His appearance was also startlingly out of place; Rhys swept uneasy eyes over the man’s high-tech, orange and white armour. His gear was unmarred, clean, and there was absolutely nothing _bandit_ about it, including the bulky backpack connected to his frame by thick wiring. But what sent a real ripple of distinct fear into Rhys was the bold ‘M’ over his heart, below an inverted triangle.

“Maliwan.” The word escaped Rhys in a whimper. He sunk back onto the bed, shuffling back onto his elbows. The helmeted trooper at the other side of the room chuckled, a tinny garble beyond a voice modulator, and advanced into the room.

“I must say, I did not expect to see someone like _you_ in a bandit camp… Where did you come from?”

Rhys pressed his back against the wall as the trooper came close, bending at the hips to look into his face. The rifle in the man’s grip fell onto its sling as he reached a hand forward; Rhys brought his cybernetic arm up between them as a deterrent. The trooper tilted his head in response, seeming to scan the metal limb, before gripping him by the wrist to _slam_ it into the wall.

"Fuck!" A hiss of pain escaped Rhys as pain flared in his shoulder. He glanced at his useless prosthetic in minor betrayal — he had so little of his normal strength left, inhibited by whatever it was that Tannis had done to his arm. It allowed the trooper to overpower him with relative ease, which set a quiver through Rhys’ muscles as the man above him again reached forward and plucked at his vest.

“Hyperion…” the trooper hummed. “Very curious.”

“Get your hands off me,” Rhys snarled, flush with sudden indignation. He grabbed onto the Maliwan trooper’s wrist, at the same time drawing back into the bedspread to place distance between them. The other man followed after, pressing a knee onto the bed to almost climb over Rhys’ hips.

“Or you’ll what?” he laughed, nudging a knuckle under Rhys’ chin. “I’m the one with the gun, after all.”

“I’ll shout,” Rhys snapped, pointedly ignoring the intimate gesture. “I might not have a gun, but the Raiders sure do…”

“True,” the trooper tilted his head. “But you’ll find they are somewhat distracted at the moment.”

Almost as if on cue, a distant rattling filled the hallway. Rhys winced, glancing toward the doorway in alarm.

“Why are you even here?” he asked shakily, feeling the press of a knee against his hip. “What could they possibly have that you want?”

“We received a nice little tip,” the trooper admitted, helmet directed toward Rhys’ face. “And it seems to have paid off…”

As gloved fingers brushed Rhys’ cheek, he flinched, jerking his head to the side. The trooper jabbed his stomach with the rifle, a clear threat, and Rhys closed his eyes as he shuddered against the suggestion.

“You’re here for _me?”_

“That remains to be seen,” the trooper answered softly. “We were told the key to Handsome Jack’s downfall lies with the Crimson Raiders… And here you are.”

Rhys’ eyes snapped wide. He ignored the initial rush of delight at the idea that he might be Jack’s _downfall,_ instead latching onto the second desperate thought that jumped to mind. _Lie through your damn teeth._

“So…” the trooper continued, fingers dipping downward to tug at Rhys’ shirt. “…is your presence here a coincidence? Or is there something _special_ about you? Besides the pretty face.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Rhys shivered as the man’s touch danced over the crest of his chest tattoo. “Handsome Jack? _The_ Handsome Jack? You think I’ve even _met_ him? I’m just a programmer for fuck’s sake.”

“So then why are you here?”

Rhys briefly closed his eyes. “Wrong place, wrong time.”

The general fear in his voice seemed to add something genuine to his ploy; the trooper eased back as he seemed to reconsider.

“Well…” the trooper snorted. “I suppose that means you’re fair game, doesn’t it?”

He moved forward again; Rhys shrank under his weight, shoving forearms defensively against his armoured chest.

“Fuck you.”

“Ah, ah,” the trooper chided, digging the rifle deeper against his stomach. “Behave, now.”

“How’d you even find this place?” Rhys snapped, lowering his hands in surrender.

“Stroke of luck, actually,” he laughed, which was all the more threatening under the distortion of the modulator. “We were raiding a nearby settlement when a lone technical made its escape. Led us straight here.”

 _Fuck_. Rhys glared up at the trooper. “Lucky indeed.”

“Come along then,” the trooper grabbed onto Rhys’ shoulder, gesturing for him to stand. He was almost forced toward the edge of the bunk, fearful of placing his feet solidly onto the floor as if they might slip away. “I have a place on my ship just for you…”

“Maliwan scum!”

Rhys and the trooper turned simultaneously, surprised by the sudden presence of a Crimson Raider in the doorway opposite. The Raider hefted a Dahl SMG in their direction, and Rhys immediately dropped down, slipping to his belly on the floor. A barrage of bullets slammed along the wall where he’d previously been standing, but both he and the trooper had dodged out of the way in time.

The pack on the trooper’s shoulders sparked with life; his frame shimmied with a bizarre burst of light. In the next second, he was across the room, slamming the Crimson Raider in the face with his rifle. The Raider reeled; his SMG clattered across the floor as a flurry of elemental shots ripped through his body. When at last his frame collapsed, nearly folding over backward and pulsing with electricity, the Maliwan trooper snorted his satisfaction.

“Amateur,” he grunted, giving the body a swift kick. “Now where were we…”

Rhys trained the recovered SMG in the trooper’s direction, aiming for centre mass as Timothy had instructed.

“You were just leaving.”

The trooper’s frame again shifted as Rhys’ finger tugged the trigger back. He flickered in place before disappearing out into the hallway, leaving a streak of light in his wake. Rhys quivered, staring silently at the door as all of his muscles screamed in urgency to _move, damn it, move_. His feet rejected the first set of mental instructions to _run,_ then stumbled their way to the threshold. Shoulder pressed to the frame, and SMG leading the way, Rhys carefully peeked out of the room.

He was alone. For now. And while a far-off din of exchanged gunfire echoed through the building, there was no trace of the flash trooper, except for a few spatters of blood leading down the left hallway. Despite the shake of adrenaline rushing through him, Rhys briefly managed to smirk before advancing down the corridor in the opposite direction.

Rhys did his best to keep low, moving quickly but quietly as he made his way through the building. He followed the route by memory, checking each dark corner with a sweep of his SMG. His heart leapt into his throat at every odd sound, every flicker of perceived movement in his peripherals. But luckily, and much to his surprise, he somehow managed to find his way back to Tannis’ small workshop unmolested.

The shop was empty, but for a dead Crimson Raider in the corner. He’d clearly crawled into the room and died right there, dragging a macabre streak of blood across the floor behind him. Rhys felt a peculiar punch of pity upon inspecting the man, but shook it off, crouching to loot the corpse instead. He managed to retrieve some ammo, but as his fingers passed over a sharp, angular shape, Rhys was forced to tear his eyes away from the door long enough to glance the bizarre Anshin, which he plucked up and affixed to his belt. A warm _hum_ crossed his skin as the shield took effect.

Next, Rhys closed the door to the workshop to wedge a stool against the handle. While it wouldn’t hold for long, should someone attempt to break through, it would at least give him enough time to recover his gun and take aim. Satisfied with his temporary blockade, he turned and passed his gaze over the nearby workbench.

He bitterly ignored the vice on the edge of the table to instead scan the various tools carefully organized in the boxes on the surface, quickly locating the implement Tannis had used to disable his arm. Rhys hesitantly set down his gun, then went to work, slipping the metal in past his palm. Immediately, that familiar, cool sensation rocketed up his elbow; he sifted through the fine wiring beneath the metal exterior with a careful touch. It took a few anxious minutes, and Rhys fought against the heavy beating of his heart to focus solely on the task at hand. At every distant flareup of gunfire, he flinched, hastening to find the misplaced connection.

After an excruciating struggle, he at last discovered the wire that Tannis had tugged out of place. Working the tool against it, there came a solid _jolt;_ his arm seemed to almost hum to life. Energy rippled through his core, even managing to spark connections with his ECHOeye. Rhys moaned against the feeling, pressing a palm to his eye socket. _Whole again._

The elation was unfortunately short lived, as a burst of weapons fire in the hallway behind the closed door drew Rhys’ attention. He swiftly traded the tool in his hands for the rifle, which he lifted to aim at the doorway.

His heartbeat was racing; his grip was tight. This wasn’t going to be like the simulations. There would be real life consequences should he fuck up. But there was little else he could do. After a few moments, and a few stolen breaths, Rhys kicked the stool free. He winced at the wrenching sound the door made upon being opened, then pressed against the frame as he edged out with his weapon.

The space outside was thankfully empty, but the not-so-distant shouting and shooting kept him alert. He moved into the hall, sweeping a check to the left before he spun around to the right, and strode stealthily toward the corner at the end. There was another body here — a Maliwan trooper slumped on the ground. It was not the man who had accosted him, but Rhys gave the corpse a solid kick out of spite.

_Fucker._

A figure barrelled into view, crashing into the hallway next to Rhys; he snapped rigid, mind blank with shock. He pivoted, eyes wide as a second armour clad trooper paused just beyond the nearby door. The SMG in Rhys’ hands levelled in the trooper’s direction just as he looked his way, dropping the man to the floor with a short round of burst fire. When he managed to pry his finger off the trigger, he remained stock still, staring down at the body in desperate silence.

His heart beat thudded loudly in his ears; he blinked rapidly as if to wave away some illusion. This was not the first man he had killed, but he couldn’t help his hesitation, staring in distinct shock while the trooper heaved his last breath. Blood seeped out to soak the floor beneath his bulk.

 _Me or him_ , Rhys quivered, like it somehow made everything all right. _Me or him._ And if he had to choose between being a prisoner of the Raiders or Maliwan, he preferred to stay where he knew at least _one_ person seemed concerned with his wellbeing.

Rhys inhaled sharply, lifting his head. _Axton._

He advanced without a second thought, passing through the door where the trooper had first appeared. His foot soon crunched down against gravel; he cast a skyward gaze to spy the dim light of sunrise overhead. The immediate area outside of the main building was unsettlingly deserted, occupied only by a few bodies strewn across the ground. A quick glance confirmed he did not recognize any of the fallen, which was somehow a relief and a burden. He had to keep looking. But at the sound of displaced air worrying at Rhys’ ears, he turned to glance toward the edge of town, noticing a group of red-armoured Raiders doing battle with a Maliwan drop ship in the distance.

Well, fuck _that_.

Rhys opted for the opposite direction. There was yet no sign of Axton or any of the Vault Hunters, which left him feeling particularly conflicted. Their presence would mean _protection_ and _safety,_ but only so far as how they would treat a valuable prisoner. Regardless, it was the preferred option versus trying his luck alone in the desert. Hardened with resolve, Rhys crept through town in search of his captors, and as he rounded a corner, his eyes fell onto a fairly curious sight.

The machine was very Hyperion — yellow and angular and very high tech. Rhys swallowed sharply at recognizing it for what it was: a fast travel machine.

He crept away from his cover once he had confirmed the area was clear, approaching the machine with trepidation. His ECHOeye triggered it with little effort; the bulk unfurled at his presence and quickly presented him with an interface. As the hologram appeared, bathing Rhys’ surroundings in ambient blue light, his ECHOeye HUD prompted him with an offer to add his personal connections to the local map.

As Rhys’ stare lingered on the ‘HELIOS’ label pending in his vision, a sharp pain spiked in his chest. He didn’t have a Fast Travel Pass, so it was nothing more than a massive tease. At the very last, however, he was able to grab the local location metadata for that particular machine.

You know. Just in case.

“Hands up, Dahl reject!”

Rhys spun in alarm, peculiarly awash with irritation at having been mislabelled. Upon scanning the area and finding no source for the voice, however, the connections in his mind finally clicked into place, filling him with concern. In the next instant, he was dashing toward a nearby alley.

His breath caught in his throat at the view around the next corner. There were five Maliwan troopers spread out amongst a wide courtyard, each heavily armed and ready for a fight. At the centre of the group stood Axton, seemingly displeased with the weapon in his hand. He almost ignored the troopers in defiance, head downturned as he examined the empty clip in his fingers. Rhys swallowed hard, despite a small thrill at Axton’s cavalier attitude toward courting _death,_ eyes darting between the troopers as they slowly moved toward him.

“I said _hands up_ , asshole!” one of the men barked.

“Hold on, fellas…don’t be hasty.” Axton’s expression shifted into something cocky.

“You’re on empty, pisshead,” another trooper snapped.

“Appears that way.” Axton hummed. He casually reached behind his back, and Rhys went rigid in anticipation. “But I haven’t introduced you to the missus yet.”

Time seemed to slow as he tossed the device into the air. The troopers’ heads followed its arch through the sky; Rhys’ lips parted in awe.

_3\. 2. 1…_

The turret exploded into shape, bulky and heavily armed and _so damn gorgeous._ Immediately upon touching the ground, it burst into action, pumping heavy rounds into the nearby troopers. Rhys watched with merciless satisfaction as their horrified cries filled the air, disrupted only by the loud rattling of the turret.

And Axton merely stood back and _watched_ , smirking as the dirt was painted with blood. Rhys’ eyes somehow tore away from the turret and found the Commando, lingering heavily on his confident frame. He shuddered with the pulse that shot straight to his groin.

“Damn…”

After a solid thirty seconds, all five troopers had hit the ground, and the turret whirred to a stop. Axton reached out to give it an affectionate pat before the shape faded away, leaving the soldier alone amongst his fallen enemies.

A flush of red crossed Rhys’ face. He stepped out from the alley, mouth open as he was tempted to call to the Commando — _totally not to run into his arms —_ but a flash of motion across the courtyard caught his attention. When a new trooper stepped out from the opposite alley, lifting a gun toward Axton’s head, Rhys shouted in alarm.

“Ax! _No!”_

* * *

A burst of gunfire crackled out from behind Axton; he spun in time for warm blood to splash across his face. He blanched, staring in muted surprise at the Maliwan trooper that dropped to his knees directly ahead of where he stood. A rifle fell from the man’s hand, clattering uselessly against Axton’s boot, and the rest of him followed soon after, crumpling to the dirt upon succumbing to his wounds. Axton took an abrupt step back to give him space, gawking at the corpse. Because _what the hell?_

Upon scanning the area in question, his eyes found Rhys of all people at the mouth of an alley nearby. The Hyperion employee was frozen in place, carefully gripping an SMG in his hands. He was locked onto the trooper’s body, mostly unmoving, seemingly stunned by his own decisive actions. Axton took a breathless moment to take in Rhys’ posture, the almost natural way he held the gun. It nearly looked like he knew what he was doing — if it weren’t for the subtle shivers that ran through his slight frame. But the fact that he was toting around a _Dahl_ gun…

“…Rhys?” Axton called out, ignoring the heady temptation.

No response. Rhys managed a few shaky steps before stumbling, throwing up his metal arm to brace against the wall beside him. Axton instinctively darted forward, making sure to wipe the blood from his face. He grabbed onto Rhys and looped an arm around his waist to keep him steady.

“Careful, now.”

Rhys immediately leaned into Axton, hooking his chin over his shoulder. Their height difference made it awkward, but Rhys almost seemed insistent. Axton pressed his back against the wall, letting Rhys brace into him as his chest moved in laboured breaths.

“Easy,” he hummed into Rhys’ ear, carefully maneuvering the SMG out of his hands. “Talk to me, Rhys. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” he parroted quietly. “I just…need a second.”

“That was impressive.”

Zer0 appeared alongside Axton, head angled toward Rhys. “That trooper almost had you. / Where did _he_ come from?”

“Not sure,” Axton answered quietly, dropping his head back to gaze at Rhys. He could feel the man shuddering in his arms, struggling with the surge of adrenaline. His prosthetic hand was pressed to his chest, as if fighting against his racing heart, and there was a significant shake in his shoulders. Very suddenly, he turned his face into Axton’s neck and grabbed the straps of his backpack, as if searching for something to hold onto. Axton passed the SMG to Zer0, then dragged his other arm around Rhys, tugging him close to brush fingers through his hair.

“Breathe deep. Take a minute and slow down,” he instructed. “Zero. How we doing?”

His partner had moved away to check over the vicinity. A telltale blue sword lit the way as the tall Vault Hunter strode through the courtyard.

“We seem to be clear,” Zer0 droned. “They are dead or fleeing now. / It is all over.”

“Where’d that come from?” Axton growled. “Came out of friggin’ nowhere.”

“How’d they even _find_ us? _Pendejos,”_ Mordecai moved out from a nearby structure, reloading his sniper as he rejoined the group. “You guys seen… uh… Ax?”

Rhys didn’t acknowledge Mordecai’s arrival. He remained motionless, feeding off of Axton’s warmth, and the Commando similarly persisted, fingers stroking across the back of his neck. A fresh heat blossomed in Axton’s chest, but he stifled it, staring across at Mordecai with a blank expression. It wasn’t until Lilith appeared that he felt a pulse of concern regarding the prisoner in his arms.

“What the hell is going on?” she asked, eyeing the pair. Her voice was dark, unrestrained; Axton stiffened.

“He just killed someone. Give him a second.”

“If he made it this far, he must’ve killed a _few_ of ‘em,” Mordecai grunted, kicking at the body between them.

“Who gave him a gun?” Lilith snapped, and Rhys at last lifted his head. Rhys' lips unintentionally brushed his pulse point; Axton subconsciously tightened his embrace in response.

“Dead raider.” Rhys answered quietly.

“Someone Maliwan killed? Or someone _you_ killed?”  
  
"How would he kill an armed man?"

Axton levelled a glare at Lilith, feeling suddenly protective. The Siren’s expression was mutually hostile, arm glowing as she accusingly regarded the pair.

“I don’t suspect him.”

They simultaneously glanced toward Zer0. The tall assassin returned to stand close to Axton, a constant ally. “A trooper flanked both of us. / Rhys saved Axton’s life.”

Rhys deftly lifted his head to acknowledge Zer0, who nodded his thanks in return. Axton felt the man in his arms finally relax, and was pleased when he still did not pull away from their hold on each other.

Mordecai shifted on his feet. “Well, damn. Good work, stooge.”

“ _Rhys,_ ” Axton replied sharply, throwing him a look.

“Yeah. Rhys,” Mordecai tilted his head, eye roll obvious despite the goggles. “Nice work, kid.”

“Okay. That’s enough.”

Lilith moved in between them, having resumed her role of _Commander._ “We need to lock this place down. If Maliwan knows we are here, Hyperion might not be far behind. Zer0, make sure Maliwan is gone. Mordecai, get a headcount. Find out how many people we lost. And Ax…”

She moved narrowed eyes toward them, glancing up and down Rhys’ frame with distaste. “Take the prisoner back to his cell. Then get your ass up here and help clean up.”

* * *

Rhys had remained silent as Axton led him back to his room. The scene was alarming to say the least; the wall behind the bed was riddled with bullet holes, and a path of fresh blood led away and down the hallway. Rhys almost seemed not to notice, carefully stepping around the body in the doorway to proceed across the room. He brushed rock dust off of his bed before sinking dejectedly against the mattress. Axton gave him a mournful look, pausing to handle the dead Raider — a man he regrettably did not recognize. He moved him temporarily into the hallway before returning to join Rhys.

Stopping just short of the bed, he reached up to scratch at his neck. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Rhys mumbled. “Just…”

He didn’t need to say anything. Axton nodded his understanding, eyes lingering on Rhys’ soft face.

“I feel disgusting.”

Rhys chanced a sniff at his underarm, then winced, and Axton couldn’t help but chuckle.

“You should stay here for now, but I’ll make sure someone takes you to get a shower,” he offered. His eyes fell to Rhys’ vest, and he shrugged, glancing away from the ‘Hyperion’ on his chest. “And get you a change of clothes.”

“Thanks, Ax.”

His heart palpated.

“Hey…you did good out there, Rhys,” he hummed. “You, uh... You saved my life. I owe you big time.”

“Ax, there was a flash trooper…” Rhys started, eyes flickering nervously toward the door. “He tried to take me. I—”

Axton went still as a shock of fury passed through him. “What happened?”

“I shot him,” Rhys swallowed. “But what if he—”

With a bizarre rush of protectiveness, Axton moved forward to crouch between Rhys’ knees. He reached out and cupped his face in both hands; Rhys immediately drew his hands up to grip at his wrists.

“It’s safe now,” Axton whispered, stroking a few locks free from Rhys’ forehead. “I’ve got you. I promise.”

Rhys said nothing. He slowly nodded, eyes crinkled, and Axton gave him a comforting smile. After a beat, when he no longer felt shivers running through Rhys’ arms, he stood, gazing back toward the door. He was still needed outside to help lock the place down, but before he could even think to move, Rhys was on his feet, and his hands were on Axton’s chest.

A vicious, heady thrill punched him in the heart. “…Rhys?”

The other man remained silent. Axton swallowed against the lump in his throat, eyes drifting down to where Rhys’ fingers gripped his jacket. His breath snagged as Rhys made a slow scan of his face before coming to linger on his lips. At some point, Axton’s hands had reached for Rhys’ sides, and for the first time he felt the lean shape of his body along his hip bones. Despite himself, and the alarm bells in his head, Axton almost leaned closer.

 _Damn it_ , Rhys was unfairly pretty. He had these huge, mismatched doe eyes and a bit of a pout, something that hit Axton hard. He caught himself wanting to reach up and trace the line of his high cheekbones, wanting to duck forward and snag those pale lips. Really, there were a lot of things Axton found himself wanting to do with Rhys.

But the longer he stared at him, as mutually interested as the other man seemed to be while hanging from Axton’s chest, he simply couldn’t close the distance between them. A looming, detestable presence hung over them, and all Axton could see was the way Rhys’ face lit up when he saw the hologram of Handsome Jack. As much as finally being able to touch Rhys made Axton’s heart race, he just could not put the memory aside. Rhys looked at Handsome friggin’ Jack the way Axton wished he’d look at _him_.

Reaching a hand up to brush at Rhys’ hair, he affectionately adjusted the way the locks fell against his forehead, before guiding him back to the bed. He helped him sit down, then patted his shoulder.

“Try to get some rest,” he murmured. “I’ve got to go take care of a few things.”

“…okay.”

Axton smiled, tugging away to begrudgingly head back toward the door. He hesitated in step at the threshold, however, just as Rhys called out to him.

“Ax…” he whimpered. Axton gazed over his shoulder, feeling an odd pang at the look of helplessness on Rhys’ face. “…you will come back later, right?”

Axton rested his arm on the doorframe, allowing himself for just a moment to stare at Rhys and be consumed by that flush of heat.

“Sure, Rhys. I’ll be back soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Axton. He's got it bad.


	21. I'm Sorry

Dirt and gravel crunched softly under the tires of the light runner as it pulled to a stop outside of the town of Overlook. Timothy tugged at his ill-fitting clothing where it rested tight against his arms, before checking and rechecking that the enclosed helmet he wore fully obscured his face. The only quick change machine he managed to access on his journey over had sparse options, but he made do with what he had. He didn’t have the luxury of time, not with Rhys still out there somewhere.

Satisfied that his disguise did its job, he climbed out of the vehicle. The town was quiet at this time of day, almost seemingly abandoned — but really, that was just Overlook. Its citizens were shut-ins, kept indoors by the skull shivers disease caused by the nearby Hyperion mining operations. Just another generous gift from Handsome Jack to the people of Pandora.

Despite the inactive town, Overlook was home to a relatively popular bar called the “Holy Spirits”. It was run by a local bandit gang slash peculiar family known as the Zafords, and was one of the few places on Pandora that you could walk into without immediately risking your meat suit. Timothy had frequented the bar back in the day whenever he needed intel on bandit activity in the area. With the ongoing feud between the Zafords and the Hodunks, there were always plenty of rumours swirling around, and more often than not he’d been able to latch onto something useful.

The Zafords liked to _talk_. Especially after a few pints.

As Timothy strode toward the bar, he smirked under his helmet at a sudden rush of nostalgia. He had a soft spot for the Holy Spirits, and couldn’t help but look forward to dropping a mutual “heyo” to Steve at the bar.

But as he reached the bottom step of the stairs leading up to the fine establishment, something quietly nagged at Timothy. He bristled as the hairs on the back of his neck rose, and cast a curious gaze toward Overlook. The streets were empty as usual, but the eerie calm gnawed at him. He rested a foot on the stair, poised and attentive, but when a few minutes elapsed without incident, he gave a shrug, and proceeded into the bar.

Immediately upon entering, the quiet alarm grew deafening; his hand fluidly dropped to his Reaper. He hefted the pistol forward, slipping into a near crouch as he moved into the main room. The lousy music of Crimson Radio echoed throughout the expansive space, unfettered by any murmuring of its occupants. As far as he could tell, at first glance, he was the only one in the entire bar. This cast fuel on the flame of Timothy’s paranoia, and he moved along with silent steps.

The back room stood unlocked, door open, and unoccupied. There was, however, a substantial puddle of blood on the floor that was fairly fresh. Disturbed by the discovery, Timothy spun, intent on a quick exit, when distant voices arose over the music out in the bar.

“I said shut that shit off!”

The music clicked off; Timothy kneeled low at the door. He remained in shadow, listening intently as he counted the footsteps clunking against the floorboards.

“Fucking bandits. Even their moonshine is shit.”

“You sure you wanna drink that? The boss’ll have your head.”

“Boss is busy monitoring those Atlas wannabes. I don’t think he’ll notice.”

Timothy’s eyes shot wide. In confirmation of his suspicions, a Maliwan trooper stepped into view, standing with his back to the doorway where Timothy yet lingered. A second joined him at the bar, leaning over the counter to inspect the stash underneath. The pair were common Assault Troopers, nothing special in terms of skill and firepower, but their admission was enough to set Timothy on edge, tightening the grip on his pistol.

“How many insta-healths did he use up?” the second trooper asked, dipping out of sight as he searched. “Sure look fucked up when he got back to base.”

“No idea. But he was _pissed_ ,” the first snorted. “Apparently some snivelling kid managed to get the drop on him.”

Dread latched onto Timothy; he forced himself calm, pointedly moving his finger off of the trigger.

“Who’s he to call someone a _kid?”_

“He’s obviously trying to save face.”

“Hell, I’d be embarrassed, too. He’s got one of those new flash packs. No excuse to be riddled with bullets when you can be across the room in half a second.”

Despite the vicious mix of _protect, attack, find_ that swirled through Timothy, he couldn’t help but smirk. The little training he’d been able to provide Rhys seemed to have paid off. He was proud that the cybernetic man continued to impress.

_Atta boy, Rhys._

“Did they at least find what we were looking for? I’m tired of being on this backwater planet.”

“I don’t know. But man, quit your bitching. You’re getting paid, aren’t you?”

“Not enough to risk a buzz axe to the head. Did you hear what those psychos yell?”

“Bring me a bucket, and I’ll show you a bucket?”

“Well, yeah. But also something about getting foreskin hats for their puppets.”

“...uh.”

“Exactly.”

“Would you mind telling me what you imbeciles are doing?”

Timothy edged back at the tight voice of the latest arrival. A Jet trooper moved into view, hefting a sniper rifle against his frame.

“Sorry, sir. The coast was clear. We thought maybe—”

“Clear, huh?” the officer snarled. “So did you fail to notice the bandit runner parked outside the bar?”

 _Shit_.

“What?”

“Get off your asses and search this place.”

“Yessir!”

The troopers sprang into action. They passed behind counters, overturned tables, and generally caused a ruckus as they moved throughout the bar. Timothy pressed his shoulder against the wall by the door, remaining crouched as he monitored their movements. 

The Hyperion corporation was a force to be reckoned with, regardless of the department in question. Its weaponry was second to none, and its army of loader bots and highly trained infantry rivalled most government military factions around the galaxy. According to Handsome Jack, no one came even _close_ to matching their strength — a boast that sometimes led to an underestimation of the competition. But more often than not, he was proven correct.

Timothy was always bitter to admit Jack was right about _anything_ _,_ but as the few Maliwan troopers spread themselves thin through the room, leaving themselves vulnerable, he found that he had to agree. Their training was _shit._

As the first trooper stepped into the doorway, Timothy aimed a sharp kick into his leg. Following a sickening _crunch_ , the trooper gave a garbled wail, sending a barrage of gunfire into the opposite wall as he crashed to the floor. Tim pressed a foot against the downed trooper’s neck, and fired a solitary shot through his helmet.

“Contact!”

Timothy turned to glimpse the second trooper, dropping low as he retrieved a grenade from his belt. The trooper dashed for cover, slipping behind the bar across from the doorway, and Tim pulled the pin to cook the ‘nade in his palm. He counted three seconds, then threw it into the other room. It arced beautifully through the air before landing directly in the trooper’s lap.

“Oh, you fucking _assho—_ ”

The resulting blast cut off the trooper’s words, and likely a few appendages. The bar shook madly, sending shards of glass and splinters of wood into the air, before the room fell silent once more. Timothy hunkered low, leaning past the threshold to scan the room for the third trooper, but was surprised to find it empty.

Well. It was markedly easier than taking on the Firehawk, at least.

Timothy stepped out into the bar, sweeping his Reaper in a wide motion in search of the Jet trooper. He had an advantage over the trooper’s long range weapon, but he was likely also armed with grenades, and it was enough to keep Tim on his toes.

A quick reconnaissance of the room confirmed he was gone. Timothy turned his sights on the front entrance, where the door remained ajar, and he grunted his concerns. He moved behind cover, stabbing at his wristwatch.

“Jack. Maliwan’s at Overlook.”

A beat passed.

“What?” the angry voice reverberated in his ears. “Get your ass out of there. The moonshot is primed.”

“Negative,” Timothy snapped. “I’m cornered in the bar.”

“You have two minutes, Tim,” Jack snarled. “Then I’m levelling that shithole town.”

“ _Jack_. They know where Rhys is.”

Jack went silent. Timothy opened his mouth to speak, but was quickly cut off.

“Right. So here’s the situation you find yourself in,” a voice called. “You’re outnumbered, and you’re trapped like a rat. Come outside — unarmed — and we won’t burn the place down with you inside.”

“Fuck.”

“Reinforcements are inbound, Tim,” Jack barked. “Keep him talking.”

Cursing inwardly, Timothy pushed back onto his feet. He scanned the open doorway, shoving his Reaper into his belt against his spine before retrieving his grenades and placing them onto the counter. His approach to the front door lagged, but the Maliwan troopers had kept their distance, and a small squad lingering just beside his light runner soon came into view.

“That’s it,” the Jet trooper nodded. “Nice and slow.”

Timothy took a solitary step past the archway, lifting his arms into the air. There were five troopers — most wore the typical Assault gear, providing support for the Jet trooper in the front. Their rifles were carefully trained in his direction, and Tim felt an itch at the back of his head. He chanced a look skyward, to where Helios loomed far overhead.

“You’re no bandit,” the Jet trooper snapped. “What are you doing here?”

Tim angled his head. “I was thirsty.”

“Don’t give me that crap.” the trooper advanced, levelling his rifle at Tim’s head. “Get on your knees.”

After a long, frustrated exhale, Tim acquiesced. He dropped to a knee, careful to keep his hidden firearm concealed.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m a Vault Hunter,” Timothy lifted his head. “Seen any vaults lately?”

“He’s one of those Raiders,” one of the Assault troopers snapped. “Shoot this asshole.”

“Stand down,” the Jet trooper snapped, rounding his attention back on Tim. “...are you a member of the Crimson Raiders?”

“That depends. If I am, what does that mean for me?”

“Your friends have something we want. If they cooperate, Maliwan will make it worth their while.”

Timothy eased back. “That’s kind of vague. What are you looking for?”

“Let’s start with your prisoner. The Hyperion employee.”

“What do you want the kid for?” Timothy forced a laugh to maintain his charade, despite the bitter twist in his gut. “Hyperion didn’t even want him. Wasn’t worth a crate of guns.”

The Jet trooper paused. He advanced, slowly walking up the steps before lifting his sniper rifle to nudge at Tim’s helmet.

“Take that off.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s stuck.”

“Bullshit.”

 _Okay, Jack_ , Tim chanced another glance skyward. _Any time now…_

The trooper took another step forward, lowering his gun to slip fingers beneath the lip of the helmet. Timothy’s hand snapped up to grip his wrist, and the other brought out the Reaper, pressing the muzzle to the trooper’s chin. But just as he slid his finger onto the trigger, there came a heavy series of _whumps_ from high above.

“Sorry, kiddo,” Tim grinned. “Looks like my backup is here.”

“Hyperion piece of _shit_.”

Tim fired a volley of shots upward into the Jet trooper’s chin, but his shield was surprisingly effective. It flared then broke, and the Jet trooper reeled back. The ground around them shook violently with the impact of a series of moonshots, providing a number of Hyperion SGT bots to join the fray.

Timothy stabbed at his watch, slipping over the railing of the balcony and onto the rocky terrain below.

_“Jack, here! The real one!”_

_“Who needs a_ hero?”

“What the fuck!?”

The Digi-Jacks manifested on the balcony above, joining the loader bots in pushing Maliwan back into Overlook. They took down the closest two Assault troopers with ease, stepping over their corpses as the remaining Maliwan soldiers ran for cover.

“Gimme an update, Tim.”

“You better make a deal with Lilith fast, Jack,” Tim barked, reloading the Reaper. “Before Maliwan does.”

“Not the fucking news I wanted, Tim.”

Tim leaned out from behind his barrier. Another Maliwan trooper had been dropped, strewn out across the ground where he’d fallen while running. A fourth was pinned down in a doorway, and the Jet trooper was nowhere to be seen. Timothy growled, moving out across open ground. The Digi-Jacks immediately dropped in line at his side, and he made his way into Overlook at the same time the loader bots took down the final Assault trooper.

The bots went quiet, the only sound a mechanical _whirring_ as they scanned the immediate vicinity. Timothy stepped beyond their lineup, gazing about the town, when he felt something nudge at his boot. He gazed down as a collection of round grenades came to a stop by his feet.

“Fuck.”

The resulting blast that sent Timothy off his feet simultaneously knocked out the Digi-Jacks. His back collided with a loader bot, undoing the work of the insta-health from hours before; he dropped to the ground in the next instant, knocking his head against the dirt. Struggling for purchase, he fought to shake off the dizziness, but was entirely too distracted by the stars dancing in his vision.

The telltale displaced _whir_ of a jetpack found his ears, and he lifted his head as the Jet trooper soared into the air over Overlook. He gave a distinct salute, before turning to descend past the buildings and out of sight. The remaining loader bots that still had legs, and even one that didn’t and instead dragged itself over the ground, gave chase, but Timothy knew it was pointless.

He rested his head on the ground, coughing blood into his helmet. His search for an insta-health in his inventory came back with a broken hypo, which he discarded onto the ground with a grunt. Timothy rolled just enough to bring his other hand up to his face, tearing the helmet off, then took a moment to catch his breath, wincing past every lance of pain in his chest.

“Jack,” he uttered, dropping his head back onto the ground. “One got away.”

Jack’s response was delayed. But when he spoke again, his voice was dark, and frankly _terrifying_.

“...Timothy.”

“Yeah.”

“Come back to Helios. Now.”

“Okay, Jack.”

He shifted, moving a hand beneath his chest. Something wrenched in his shoulder, and he winced, dropping back onto the ground.

“I’ll need a minute,” he huffed.

“We are out of _time_ , Timothy.”

“Jack,” he hissed, turning onto his side. “I’m _injured_. Give me a goddamn second. I still have to get to a secure fast travel station.”

A beat passed. Then:

“When Rhys comes home, Tim, you’re going back to the Jackpot.”

Timothy’s eyes snapped wide. He heaved bile and blood onto the dirt, wheezing as a flood of desperation washed over. “Jack, _no—”_

“Get back to Helios.”

“Jack, _please_.” he cried out. “Don’t do this. I’m _sorry.”_

The call was dropped, and Timothy collapsed into the ground.

* * *

“Heya, Ax. Where you headed?”

Axton faltered as he strode toward the closed door to his quarters. He shuffled the items in his grip, obscuring them against his flank as he turned to spy the scrawny sniper moving down the hallway to intercept him. Despite the goggles, Axton knew Mordecai had set upon him with a decisively judgmental stare, as he came to a stop with his arms folded. Axton straightened defensively, adjusting the position of the six pack of beer in the crook of his elbow.

“You have somethin’ to say, _hon_ , you say it.” he grumbled.

“What’re you _doing?”_ Mordecai sighed, shaking his head. “Forget that the kid is Hyperion. He belongs to _Handsome Jack_. You’re playing with fire here.”

“He doesn’t belong to _anyone_ ,” Axton grumbled, shooting Mordecai a look. “And Handsome Jack is _dead_. I don’t know what that _thing_ is, but I made pretty damn sure the real thing was put down.”

“Does Rhys know that?” Mordecai asked sharply. “That _you_ killed his hero?”

Axton’s response came out a mumble, as he turned to stare at the door.

“All I’m saying, Ax, is that this kid is trouble,” Mordecai offered, wandering closer. “As long as Jack is on the hunt for him, you’re playing a dangerous game.”

“I appreciate the concern, but I can handle myself,” Axton growled, levelling a look at the other man. “And if I have to, I won’t hesitate to put Jack in the ground a second time.”

“I know you won’t,” Mordecai nodded slowly. “But if you did, do you think Rhys would forgive you?”

Axton blinked. When a feasible reply did not come to mind, he shut his mouth, and the sniper shrugged. He patted Axton’s shoulder as he pressed past.

“Just… think things over.”

Axton was left alone, eyes lingering on the door to his room. Everything Mordecai had said had been, well — _fair_ — damn it. For a scruffy introvert, he managed to really make sense once in a while. Maybe it had something to do with all the time spent alone in sniper’s nests. Plenty of time to think while staring down the scope of a rifle for hours on end.

Axton swallowed a curse, annoyed with himself for feeling bitter toward his friend. Mordecai only ever had his best interests at heart. And Axton definitely had the tendency to ignore red flags when a pretty face was involved. This wouldn’t be the first time it got him into trouble. But was Rhys really that big of a risk? He seemed like a good guy, having gone as far as saving Axton’s life when he could have just made a run for it. He certainly wasn’t the typical out-for-blood corporate stooge that Axton had come to expect. And when faced with Handsome Jack’s downright surprising admission of _love_ , Rhys didn’t actually say the word back. The stunning moment had been enough to force Axton out of the room at the time, but he quietly stored the realization away in the back of his mind.

Rhys was full of surprises, and Axton couldn’t help but feel a tug of affection.

The feeling yet hung in his chest as he pushed open the door to his room, only to freeze in place. At the far end of the space stood a shirtless Rhys, his back to Axton as he changed into a new pair of clothes.

He was as scrawny as he’d looked, but had slight definition in his shoulders and real arm. And he was _tattooed._ It went far beyond the circular piece on his neck — the upper half of his body was almost _covered_ in dark blue ink. An expansive design started at his wrist and ran up to his shoulder, looking almost Siren-like. No small amount of time or pain went into that tattoo. Axton found himself breathless as his eyes roved over Rhys’ frame. He barely thought to even react when Rhys turned, eyes wide upon noticing his presence.

Rhys blushed furiously; he quickly finished pulling a ratty tank top over his head. “Heh… I know, I know.”

Axton frowned. “What?”

“The tattoo. It’s dumb. The most expensive mistake I’ve ever made,” Rhys hummed.

“Mistake?”

Axton crossed the room, careful to set the six pack down onto the floor behind the ammo crate. He moved toward Rhys, continuing to stare at his inked flesh. “I don’t see a mistake. That is straight up badass. Your cred just went up.”

Axton’s heart swelled at the way Rhys’ face lit up. “Really?”

“C'mere, turn around.”

Rhys pushed his back straight in turning to face Axton. Lifting an arm to gently tug at the material of the tank top, Axton drew the shirt back to reveal more of the tattoo across Rhys’ pec.

“It even defines your chest,” he mused. “The way it follows the outline of your muscle…that’s awesome."

Rhys swallowed, smiling shyly. “You’re the first person to say anything like that.”

Axton made sure to meet Rhys’ eyes and hold them. “That’s a damn shame.”

Allowing his hand to linger where it rested on Rhys’ arm, Axton swept his thumb gently across his deltoid. Rhys’ lips parted, but he said nothing, gaze flickering between Axton’s eyes. 

For a brief moment, Axton again caught himself considering closing the distance between them. But Mordecai’s words hung heavily in the back of his mind, an unfortunate reminder of who Rhys really was. He cleared his throat, stepping away, seemingly to Rhys' chagrin. Axton sat on the ammo crate, averting his eyes as Rhys tentatively sank into his normal place on the bunk.

“Thanks for making sure I got some new clothes.” Rhys changed the subject, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I even got to shower. The water was cold as ice, but damn does it feel good to be clean.”

“That was probably Brick,” Axton snorted. “He takes notoriously long showers. Has a lot of ground to cover. When he _does_ shower, that is.”

“No doubt.” Rhys’ eyes crinkled as he laughed. It was adorable.

Suddenly remembering the beer he’d brought along, Axton turned in place to reach for a bottle for each of them.

“Here. Got you something.”

He pressed one into Rhys’ hand, grabbing his multitool to pop off the lids. Rhys glanced at the offering, eyes wide as he considered the cool, perspiring glass.

“Probably doesn’t compare to the stuff up on Helios, but Moxxi has some decent swill.”

Rhys seemed to brighten up. He clanked his bottle against Axton’s, then pressed it to his lips, taking a few greedy swallows. Axton tentatively sipped at his, entirely too focused on the way Rhys’ throat bobbed as he drank. He made sure to avert his attention when Rhys lowered the beer and groaned in delight.

“Swill,” he echoed, eyes briefly closed. “Yes. But delicious, absolutely _necessary_ swill. Axton, I think I _love_ you.”

Axton’s mind stuttered.

“Hah,” he laughed nervously, reaching over to set a hand on Rhys’ knee. “You flatter me, sweetheart. But at least wait for the _second_ date to profess your feelings.”

Rhys smirked, side-eyeing the soldier. “This is a date, huh?”

Axton shrugged. “I usually make a point of not hitting on our prisoners, but for you I’ll make an exception.”

Rhys seemed to contemplate his lips before he took another sip. He leaned back, easing against the bedspread.

“Thanks, though. Seriously,” Rhys hummed. “I know you don’t have to do this. But it means a lot.”

“It’s nothing,” Axton smiled. “Sure, you’re Hyperion scum or whatever, but I’ll try to not hold it against you.”

“No?” Rhys laughed. “Don’t have a hate-on for corporate stooges like the rest of your buddies?”

“I’m ex-Dahl, so… that would be kinda weird,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “Military sector, sure. But on the corporate payroll, nonetheless.”

“God, that’s _right_ ,” Rhys feigned disgust, wrinkling his nose. “I’m not sure I can forgive that _._ Forget the Vault Hunter thing. But _Dahl?_ You’re _definitely_ the enemy.”

“Careful, _Hyperion_. I’m not afraid to consider a hostile takeover.”

Rhys exhaled shakily, pausing to stare at his beer. “Hooooooly shit. I’m going to need to drink a lot more of this before I can handle that kind of innuendo from you, big guy.”

Axton smirked widely before turning and dragging the rest of the six pack out from behind the ammo crate. Rhys’ eyes fell on the four bottles of beer, and he flushed. Axton gave him a wicked grin, but was taken aback as Rhys lifted his bottle to his lips, finishing it off in a swift, impressive movement.

As Rhys emptied the bottle and passed it back to him, Axton stared blankly in surprise. 

“ _…awesome.”_

Rhys chuckled, accepting the next beer with enthusiasm. He used his cybernetic hand to pop the lid off, sending it spinning across the room. This sent a peculiar pulse through Axton, and he leaned forward to snag the prosthetic. Rhys’ expression flashed with hostility, but seemed to ebb as Axton ran fingers along the metal.

“This is amazing.”

“W-what?”

“Just look at how responsive it is. Half the time I barely notice you’re missing an arm. Must feel natural, huh?”

Axton lifted his head to find Rhys staring back at him. He had difficulty identifying the look crossing Rhys’ face, and felt a pang of alarm. Had he crossed a line?

“I like you, Ax.”

He froze. His heart rate spiked, and he almost shivered against the rush of endorphins. Rhys shuffled forward on the bed, pressing their knees together.

“…yeah,” Axton murmured. “…me, too.”

Rhys’ face twisted with amusement, and then he was leaning forward.

The company man smelled _nice_. Whatever soap he’d used had done wonders, and Axton felt a natural tug as he leaned in to meet his embrace. His fingers brushed through the soft hair at the back of Rhys’ head as he worked his lips against Rhys’, tasting him for the first time. He tasted of, well, _beer_ , but Axton found he didn’t care in the least. He drew back, just enough to lap at Rhys’ lower lip, and the other man moaned in response, opening his mouth to let Axton in.

The bottle dropped from his hand to the ground in a dull _clink_ as he moved his grip to Rhys’ hip. Rhys responded to his every touch, twisting his head to meet the insistent press of his kiss. Then he pulled away, drawing back onto his elbows, and Axton followed, climbing onto the bed with ease. He cradled Rhys’ hips between his knees, hovering over his prone form as he continued to chase his lips. Heat coursed from his heart to his groin as Rhys’ tongue writhed in his mouth, leaving Axton to groan his appreciation.

Axton pulled back long enough to utter Rhys’ name into his ear before dipping his head to his neck. Rhys moved his hands from his shoulders to his chest, where he tugged at the zipper to his jacket. He canted his hips, and Axton’s mind ground to a halt at the sudden friction between them, before he growled a laugh against the skin of Rhys’ neck.

“You flirt,” he chided.

Rhys mewled a response, lost in his own reverie, and Axton shifted his position, pressing his weight against the man below. Every line of Rhys’ body was against his, and he almost bit through his lip. Instead, he pressed his mouth against the circular tattoo on Rhys’ neck, like it was some kind of target, laving it with his tongue. This earned a fresh writhing under him, and Rhys cried out in a tone that was _fantastic_ and almost had Axton over the edge in an instant. Axton smirked into his skin, then sucked hard, and Rhys bucked in place.

“Fuck, _Jack.”_

Axton’s eyes snapped open; he abruptly sat up. Rhys slapped a hand over his mouth, eyebrows pinched together.

“No — no, I meant—”

He climbed off of Rhys, feeling a cold wash of nausea as he moved for the door.

“Ax, _please_. I didn’t mean…”

At Rhys’ grip on his arm, Axton spun. He grasped him by the prosthetic, backing Rhys up against the wall. Despite the _frustration_ and _pain_ that rocketed through his chest, he was careful about the way he handled him, and Rhys barely flinched as he was forced into submission.

Axton held him in place without uttering a word. He desperately scanned Rhys’ face, lips turned downward in a frown. The slip up had been a mistake. An easy one to make. And Rhys clearly regretted it. But despite all of the excuses Axton managed to summon to mind, whatever feeling of _want_ that had previously gripped his entire being had faded away with the utterance of that one name. _Mordecai was right._ Axton sagged, letting his thumb stroke across Rhys’ shoulder where he held him.

“I’m sorry, Rhys,” he muttered. “I can’t do this.”

“Ax, it was a _mistake_.”

“Was it?” Axton levelled a look at Rhys. “Can you honestly say you aren’t holding onto some kind of hope that Handsome Jack might _actually_ feel something for you?”

Rhys drew back as if struck. “I—”

“If you can do that,” Axton hummed. “Then I will stay.”

Silence grew between them. Rhys’ stare flickered between Axton’s eyes as he considered. His lips parted, eyebrows pinching together as some quiet battle raged within him. And Axton merely waited, on edge, hoping desperately that Rhys would tell him what he wanted to hear.

“…no,” Rhys mumbled. “I can’t say that. I’ve _never_ been able to.”

Axton closed his eyes. He stepped back, careful to provide space for the very Jack-shaped void that stretched and yawned between the two men.

“I should go.”

Rhys remained against the wall as Axton made his way to the exit. He stopped just before the door, dropping his attention to the thin strip of metal that established a very hateful line of no return. A moment passed, then two, as he struggled to cross it.

“I’m sorry, Axton.”

He gazed softly over his shoulder. Rhys’ cheeks were wet with tears, and the company man had turned in an attempt to hide his face. Axton shifted with discomfort, before again turning his back.

“Me too, Rhys.”

He passed into the hallway, and pressed the door shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo.
> 
> Okay, enough of the angsty character development nonsense. Let's get this get into the _conflict_ stage of this arc, shall we?


	22. The Tipping Point

When Rhys arrived in the Crimson Raiders’ war room, he was very careful to keep his eyes on the floor. But as Mordecai directed him into place, he chanced a risky glance about the room, and was relieved to find it was devoid of a certain blond soldier’s absence. The confirmation both eased and sickened him, a shameful curl working its way through his gut. He had yet to fully deal with what he had done, but he knew it was _wrong,_ in more ways than one. Rhys stood motionless as he considered this, while Mordecai moved to the table to activate the interface with a quick gesture.

This time, Jack appeared in a video feed. The full colour provided a dramatic effect; he was back-lit by the familiar glow of Elpis where he stood against the windows of his office. The sight hit Rhys right in the chest, and not because of his indiscretion from the previous evening. Jack looked _wrecked_. He was still oddly composed, careful to maintain the Handsome Jack image in the face of negotiations, but Rhys knew him too well at this point. Heavy fatigue was set into the lines of his mask, and his eyes were tense with a desperation Rhys had never before seen.

“Five minutes, Jack,” Mordecai grunted, moving past Rhys to give them space. He still lingered not terribly far away, but thankfully provided Rhys some breathing room.

“Heya, Jack,” Rhys nodded, flinching when his voice came out in a croak. Jack slowly lifted his head, late to make eye contact when he finally looked toward Rhys.

“Hey, kitten. How are… _what the fuck is that?”_

Rhys paled. Fear flooded his body; he threw up a hand to the suspected mark on his throat — and instead brushed fingers against the collar around his neck.

“Oh,” he winced. “It lets me—”

“What’s wrong, Jack?”

Rhys sank back at the sound of Lilith’s voice, but the Firehawk was upon him in an instant. She gave him a devious smirk before hooking a finger under the collar, and he jerked forward into her grasp with a hiss.

“Don’t like your pet’s new gear?” she cooed, throwing Jack a glance. “I think it looks _nifty.”_

“You goddamn _cunt.”_

Rhys buckled at the heaviness of Jack’s voice.

“What—”

“Five minutes!” Mordecai repeated sharply, snapping a hand down onto Lilith’s shoulder. Rhys watched as he marched her out of the room, surprised to see her give in so easily. But she simply tipped her head back with a laugh, leaving Rhys alone to stare after them in awe and confusion.

“What the heck was that?”

“They…” Jack’s voice was tight; Rhys looked back to see him pressing his face into his hands. “Make sure they take that thing off of you, okay kiddo?”

“It lets me walk around though,” Rhys shrugged. “So I don’t have to be stuck in—”

“It doesn’t do that, kitten.”

Rhys bristled. He lifted his head, lips parted in question, and Jack mournfully stared back, seemingly caught between frustration and pure, heavy rage. 

“What?”

Jack dropped his head, unable to conceal his sneer. “That…is what the former version of myself put on Lilith to contain her powers. He used it to force her to open the vault.”

Disgust, terror, and hatred clashed head on-in Rhys’ stomach. His skin beneath the collar was suddenly on _fire,_ and he tugged uselessly at the vice-like attachment, feeling his heart beating against the walls of his chest.

“I…” he whimpered, panic accelerating when it wouldn’t come free. “Jack, I…I _can’t.”_

“Kitten,” Jack’s voice cracked. “Take a breath, babe. Slow down.”

He sank to his knees. “I can’t _do_ this anymore, Jack! I _can’t_. I—”

“Rhys, _breathe.”_

“Please, Jack, _please._ Just _help_ me!”

_“Rhysie—”_

“Rhys, hold still.”

He hadn’t noticed the approach of heavy steps, but as the hand gripped his arm, Rhys cried out in anguish. Then Axton was at his side, kneeling to grab his shoulders and force him still. His multitool appeared in hand, flicked open. At his touch, Rhys initially wavered, somehow recalling the desperate remorse from their last interaction even beyond the panic that gripped him, but ultimately he leaned past it and into Axton’s hands. The soldier immediately began work on the collar, and the barest flicker of relief settled over Rhys when, after only a few seconds, he felt a click, before the collar slipped to the floor with a solid _clank_.

“ _Ax.”_

Rhys moaned at the sensation, almost collapsing onto the floor. He prodded at his neck, a shiver working through his shoulders. “Thank you.”

Axton said nothing. Rhys lifted his head, only to notice the Commando was back on his feet. The air grew thick with tension, and Rhys realized that Jack was still watching from the video feed. His stare had turned hostile, darkened past anything Rhys could recognize, and it was all directed onto Axton.

“Listen close, cupcake...”

Axton lifted his head in defiance, but Jack’s threatening tone was highly effective in cutting through the feed and into the room. He angled his head forward, casting heavy shadows onto his mask.

“No matter what agreement we reach with your little band of child-killing, skag-sucking outlaws…if I see you touch Rhys again… I will find you and kill you _myself_.”  
  


* * *

Axton wasn’t the type of person to be easily intimidated. During his time with Dahl, he had gone up against the most vicious opponents the galaxy had to offer, and then some. And he’d come home with a grin on his face and blood slicked boots. But when faced with a desperate, wrathful Handsome Jack, he very nearly broke into a nervous sweat.

He’d been here before. He’d stood toe-to-toe with Jack, in the humming darkness of Control Core Angel. It had been the defining moment when Handsome Jack had gone from taunting antagonist to vengeful villain, and even _then_ it had been more than Axton could handle.

_Don’t pick a fight with a man with nothing left to lose._

Well, apparently the version of the man that _did_ have something left to lose was somehow even _more_ terrifying. Axton stumbled back a step, putting distance between himself and where Rhys sat on the floor. Rhys wouldn’t even look at him, or Jack, and instead cowered in place.

“Get Lilith,” Jack snarled. _“Now.”_

Axton cleared his throat, then turned to shout a “Lil” into the hallway. Mordecai and Lilith quickly reappeared, sending confused glances between Rhys and Axton.

“What—”

“We are ending this, _now,”_ Jack seethed, immediately cutting her off. “First off — where is my fucking vault key?”

Lilith bristled, but seemed as taken aback by Jack’s heavy tone as the rest of them were.

“The key was never on the table, Jack.”

“So you don’t have it,” he spat. “Good to know.”

Mordecai and Axton exchanged looks. What the _fuck_ was happening?

“You and I are going to settle the terms of our deal,” he continued, voice drawn thin. “You get everything North of Overlook. The Highlands are mine. New territory is fair game. Now. You’re going to agree to this, or I’m going to raze every bandit settlement from the Southern Shelf to Opportunity. You _got_ me?”

“Maliwan is still—”

“Maliwan is an _insect_ under my _heel.”_

Lilith snorted with derision, and still managed to sound nervous. “You’d risk Rhys’ life?”

Rhys lifted his head, gazing with red eyes toward Jack.

“You won’t lay a finger on him,” Jack hissed. “Not with his little _guardian_ standing watch.”

Lilith sent a very fierce look Axton’s way. He dropped his head in shame.

“You have one hour,” Jack barked. “If you don’t call back with a time and a place to meet, I’m burning _everything_ to the ground.”

The video feed winked out, leaving utter silence in its wake. Nobody moved, staring unseeing toward the space where Jack had effectively bent them over and had his way.

 _Shit_ . That was _not_ what Axton had expected. Jack had put Rhys’ life into his hands, tearing apart the cohesion of their team that had already been spread thin by Lilith’s growing mania.

As if to confirm his thoughts, Lilith spun on her heel to confront him. Her mouth opened. Then closed. And Axton nearly backed into the wall. The temperature of the room skyrocketed, flames beginning to dance over her frame. Then a blinding light flashed between them, as fiery wings manifested from her back.

Rhys cried out in alarm, kicking across the floor to put space between them. She followed, moving for the company man as he attempted his escape.

“You absolute piece of _shit,”_ she snarled. “Jack does _not_ decide your fate. _I_ do.”

Mordecai tried to grab onto her shoulders, to no avail, barely missing the wash of the flames at her back. She moved quickly toward Rhys, but Axton was quicker, and he threw himself between the two. He landed in a crouch, leaning back to shield Rhys with the bulk of his upper body, and Lilith shrieked something incoherent as she slid to a halt.

“You miserable _worm,_ Axton!” she screamed. “How _dare_ you!”

“You can’t do this, Lil’!” Mordecai barked. “This isn’t us. This isn’t _you.”_

“This isn’t _for_ me!” she spat back. “This is for _Roland!”_

She advanced again, and Axton shoved Rhys sideways. He somehow dragged them both onto their feet, but Lilith intercepted them long before the doorway. He threw up a hand, pushing Rhys around the back of the holotable as the Firehawk moved toward the two.

But at the distinct sound of a gun being cocked, the trio froze in place. The three of them turned in alarm and surprise as Mordecai lifted his sniper rifle to point at Lilith’s chest.

“You need to step back, Lilith,” he spoke calmly, training the gun on her with breathtaking stillness. “I don’t want to have to do this, but you’re leaving me little choice.”

“You fucking _traitor.”_

“You’re threatening Ax, too, Lil’. And Rhys doesn’t deserve to _die_ for this.”

“Why should I care about what Rhys deserves, when Jack didn’t give a flying fuck what _Roland_ deserved!?”

“Because this isn’t _about_ Handsome Jack,” Mordecai hummed. “He called our bluff. It’s over. We’re not going to hurt Rhys. He’s not responsible for what happened.”

Hands appeared on Axton’s sides. He risked a glance back as Rhys buried his face in his shoulder. Axton winced, feeling a flush of regret from their previous interaction, but reached back to take his hand and hold it tight.

“This is all we have.” Lilith’s voice broke. “There’s nothing else that will bring Jack down.”

“You can’t give up. We’ll keep fighting. Like we always have.”

“What is _happening_ in here?”

Axton’s head swivelled toward the doorway. Zer0 had appeared, a submachine gun pressed to his shoulder, and the blue-haired Siren, Maya, stood at his back. Immense relief flooded through Axton’s system at the sight, feeling a vicious pulse of _what took you so long!?_ Mordecai remained in place, gun raised, and Lilith’s fiery wings yet filled up half of the room. Axton’s hand tightened on Rhys’. 

“They’re letting Jack _win,”_ Lilith hissed.

“This isn’t about winning,” Axton snapped. “We’re not letting you kill an innocent man.”

“No one who loves Handsome Jack is _innocent.”_

Rhys exhaled sharply against Axton’s neck.

“Lilith, take a breath,” Mordecai pleaded. “What would Roland have said, if he saw what you were about to do?”

Lilith’s eyes drew wide. She paused, stumbling back a step to touch a hand to her face. Her wings at last flickered out, but her tattoo continued to pulse angrily.

“Lily.” Maya moved forward, looping arms around Lilith’s waist. “Sweetie. Calm down.”

“I can’t,” Lilith shook her head. “This isn’t ending here. Not like this.”

“It won’t, love. I promise. We’ll find the key. We’ll find a way.”

Axton’s heart fluttered at the sight of the Sirens in each other’s arms. Maya’s touch seemed to have the desired effect, grasping onto some ethereal bond that existed between the two. The heat faded from Lilith’s tattoo, but remained in her eyes.

Axton balked. How had it come to this? Would this have eventually happened, even without Rhys’ involvement? He had a nagging suspicion to the affirmative.

_“No.”_

Lilith put her arms up, throwing Maya off. She gave Axton and Rhys one last piercing glare before heading toward the door.

“Handsome Jack is _not_ getting his way.” 

“Lil’…”

“Rhys will stay with us until Jack gives us what we want,” Lilith snarled. “Those are my orders. If you don’t like it, you can leave.”

Axton straightened. “You don’t get to decide what—”

“Anyone who stands in my way…” Lilith interrupted him, a fresh wreath of flame licking up her arm. “Will suffer the same fate that awaits Jack.”

She strode out of the room. The remaining Vault Hunters stood frozen in place, exchanging silent looks of uneasiness. Mordecai lowered his sniper, expression rife with pain, and Axton heard a soft whimper at his back. He turned his head just enough to hear Rhys’ words murmured into his shoulder.

“Ax. I’m _sorry.”_

“Don’t be sorry, Rhys,” Axton blurted. “This has nothin’ to do with you.”

“Lilith is unhinged,” Zer0 leaned against the doorframe, head tilted. “She has unravelled at last. / What will we do now?”

“The Crimson Raiders stand with her,” Maya muttered. “They’ll support her choice.”

“Even when the moonshot blitzes begin?” Axton grunted. “How long will they stay at her side?”

“Long enough for people to die,” Mordecai answered. “Her and Handsome Jack are quite the pair.”

Rhys’ grip on Axton tightened. Axton frowned.

“Zero… can you take Rhys back to my room? And guard him with your life.”

Zer0 immediately nodded, angling toward the door.

“I’ll go too,” Mordecai hummed. Axton made eye contact with the sniper, and he felt a solid, deeper connection, despite the goggles. “You do what you gotta, Ax.”

“Ax, _no.”_

He turned in place, reaching up to cup Rhys’ jawline.

“We have less than an hour, Rhys,” he breathed. “You need to trust me, okay?”

“Please,” Rhys whimpered, grasping his hand.

Axton sighed. He stared painfully into Rhys’ despondent face, feeling a stab worry.

“Can you guys give us a minute?”

The trio of Vault Hunters left the room without argument. Mordecai even pointedly shut the door behind them, leaving Rhys and Axton alone. Rhys immediately moved into his arms, pressing his face into Axton’s chest.

“I’m sorry,” he again croaked. “For everything.”

“I know,” Axton murmured. “Me, too.”

“What are you going to do?” he asked.

“I need to get control of this,” Axton swallowed. “There’s only one thing that’ll convince the Raiders that taking Jack’s deal is the right move.”

He didn’t elaborate. Rhys didn’t ask him to. He simply lifted his head, and Axton was once again entranced by those lovely, mismatched eyes.

“…Rhys, before I go…there’s something I need to ask.”

Rhys braced himself, as if he had been expecting this; Axton paused briefly to scan his face.

“How is Jack alive?"

Really, it wasn’t what either of them were expecting. Axton had been unsure if he’d have the strength to even ask. But the question had lurked in the back of his mind from the first moment he saw Jack’s holographic frame flicker over Rhys’ palm.

Rhys’ eyes widened. His lips parted, and no words passed through them.

“He should be dead,” Axton continued. “He _was_ dead.”

“I…” Rhys took a heavy breath. “I can’t…”

Axton sighed. He carefully gripped Rhys’ hands, removing them from his chest. But as he turned, Rhys’ grip again snagged his wrist.

“It was because of me.”

Axton’s head snapped up. He spun, feeling an icy wash of disbelief at Rhys’ admission. _“What?”_

“I found him…I mean…it’s difficult to…” Rhys closed his eyes tight, as if shutting out the world.

 _“You?”_ Axton asked, a bit too sharply. “He was _dead._ How did you… How _could_ you?”

“What about you?” Rhys growled, suddenly defensive. “How are you so certain that he was dead?”

“Because I—” Axton fumbled to a halt, and Rhys stiffened. “…Because I was there. I saw it.”

Rhys opened his eyes, but there was no longer any anger in his expression. No, it looked more like disappointment. Like he’d suspected all along. Axton winced at the sharp pain this sent through his heart, rubbing a hand against his chest.

“…I have to go.”

“Fine.”

Leaving him there was the hardest thing Axton had ever done. He lingered at the precipice of Rhys’ reach for another moment, finding it difficult to move. This was very likely the last time he’d touch him, and the revelation struck deep. Despite all that had happened, and all that stood between them, all he wanted was to turn back and furiously press his lips to Rhys’ mouth, and hold him close.

“Be safe.”

Axton winced, then closed his eyes. “You too, Rhys.”

* * *

_26 minutes._

The last hour had been the most agonizing, despicable hour of his entire life. He had barely moved since he had ended the call, hands splayed across his desk and eyes boring holes into the interface beneath. Jack would have nearly forgotten to breathe, had he not reminded himself that it was a painfully irritating _necessity_ now.

Blake stood across from him, rigid and expressionless. He lingered just far enough to avoid the trapdoor in the floor, but close enough to remain under Jack’s scrutiny, although he was hardly the object of his attention at the moment. Still, even without looking at him, Jack knew he carefully eyed the Vision pistol that was laid out on the desk, where Jack's palms yet left heated marks against the surface. He seethed his rage in an audible exhale, again glancing his holoscreen.

_25 minutes._

“It has been _days_ ,” Jack snarled. “You’ve been given _every damn chance_ to find the Raiders. And what have you managed to do?”

Blake did not answer. It was very clearly a rhetorical question, after all.

Jack straightened, leaning forward to grip his pistol. He barely noticed the entrance of his doppelganger, who was making his way across the office in relative silence.

“First, it was the vault key. Then Gortys. And now the _Raiders._ I’m starting to think we don’t have the technological chokehold on this planet that you once suggested.”

Even when Timothy arrived at his side, Blake remained silent, carefully gripping the tablet in his hands. Jack lifted his glare toward the blond executive, before shifting his fury across to his double. He eased off his palms, and started his way around the desk.

“Time and again, you two have been the only ones truly capable of fulfilling your roles on this station,” he hummed, coming to stand directly ahead of the duo. At this distance, he could see the slight shiver of fear pass through Blake. The stutter in Timothy’s breathing. He could _feel_ the effect of his wrath, and it appeased something dark, deep inside of him.

 _Good_. They were right to be fearful.

“But after the abysmal series of missteps that you’ve both made this week, one fact yet remains.”

He leaned forward, breathing a scalding breath against Blake’s face.

“You have _failed_ me.”

Blake said nothing. He blinked, then dropped his eyes to the floor. Jack paid no attention to the anguish in his expression.

_24 minutes._

“Now what should we _do_ about these failures?” Jack asked. Blake’s eyes squeezed shut as the muzzle of Jack’s pistol kissed the underside of his chin. “I think I have an idea or two.”

“You failed him too, Jack.”

Jack’s head rocked back. He found Timothy again, setting a piercing glare on the doppelgänger. But he was met with something he had not expected — Timothy’s face had shifted into a place between protest and grief.

“ _What the fuck did you just say?_ ”

“Do you remember the day you found me with Rhys in my arms, Jack?”

Blake almost stepped back, putting desperate distance between himself and a suicidal man. Jack didn’t answer, but felt something twitch in his forehead.

“And do you remember that I told you that I was pretending to be you?”

Jack lifted the pistol. He moved into Timothy’s space, angling his head inline with his face.

“Choose your next words carefully, Timothy.”

The body double did not stand down.

“He told me he wished that you would open up. That you would _lean_ on him.”

Jack wavered. His heart palpated oddly, and his hand dropped ever slightly.

“He said, ‘I don’t want you to _want_ me. I want you to _need_ me.’”

Rhys’ words echoed about in his skull. It was enough to rock Jack back on his heel.

_Why don’t you tell me anything?_

He put a hand up to his face, as his own words drowned out Rhys’ voice.

 _You mean_ nothing _to me, kiddo._

“If we are responsible for Rhys not being present,” Timothy went on. “You’re just as responsible for his _absence_ , Jack.”

Jack had sent Rhys down to Pandora. Jack had sent him into Lilith’s grasp. And when Isaac’s meddling left him vulnerable and _weak_ , he’d relied on Tim and Blake to take up the torch. He’d given them an impossible task, one that even he had been unable to achieve. But as heavy as Timothy's words were, as effective as they turned out to be, Rhys' plea yet rang louder in Jack's mind.

_Jack, please. Help me._

Something swirled in his stomach; Jack's torso bucked with the sudden compulsion to vomit. Timothy staggered forward to support him, and Jack's hand snapped up to grip his shoulder. In the silent, chaotic moment, he lifted his head, gazing hard into the haunting reflection of his double's face. An extended period of quiet lapsed between them, and when a sharp _chirp_ disrupted the tension, Blake cried out.

He fumbled, slowly lifting the tablet in his hands. Then his eyes grew wide, and he raised his head to meet Jack’s blank, heavy stare.

“Sir…we’ve had an alert.”

“That’s what that sound usually means, pumpkin,” he grunted, but his voice lacked its normal acerbic bite.

“I mean — there’s suspicious activity,” Blake stuttered. “In the Thousand Cuts area.”

Jack flinched. “Suspicious _how?”_

“Someone triggered our proximity alarms at the decommissioned bunker to the Southwest.” Blake read off the report rapid fire, barely stopping to breathe. “I have visuals, I can, uh—”

He looked toward the desk, and Jack dropped his head with a sharp sigh, before waving the gun in the air. Blake lurched forward, tapping a few buttons to connect with the desk interface. In the next instant, a feed was displayed over the surface, and Jack turned unamused eyes on the video.

The drone footage zoomed in on a distant figure walking toward the old control core with purpose. It was a lone soldier, clad in militaristic gear and bearing heavy arms. Jack’s lips curled into a snarl.

_The Commando._

“What the _fuck_ is he doing there? I gave them _one fucking hour—”_

“What could he be looking for?” Timothy muttered, stepping in line with Jack. “What’s left there?”

“Nothing,” Jack hissed. “They already took _everything—”_

He stumbled to a halt, eyes narrowing in suspicion. Axton was an absolute fuck-wit, but even he wasn’t _that_ stupid. No, this was something else.

Jack moved with haste to the other side of his desk. He summoned the fast travel controls, feeding station coordinates into his watch.

“Jack? What are you doing?” Timothy hummed uneasily.

“I’m going down there.”

“Sir, I _highly_ advise against that,” Blake stepped forward. There was a hint of resignation in his voice, having just had Jack’s pistol at his head, but he remained insistent nevertheless. Loyal to a fault. “We still need to get the body scan information. You—”

“I’m not standing around anymore,” Jack spat. “Tim’s right. This is _my_ mess. And I’m going to clean it up.”

Timothy’s eyes widened. Jack straightened, and tapped at his watch.

“Time to remember what a goddamn hero looks like.”

Light erupted around his frame, swallowing his body whole, and everything went black.

* * *

Axton entered the main control core with some trepidation. The massive room was dim, glowing somewhat purple, and remained hauntingly quiet as he moved across the open space. Remnants of the Eridium injectors laid across the ground, discarded and destroyed. And at the very centre of the room, where Angel’s body was once strewn across the cold floor, stood Handsome Jack himself.

He did not appear to be actively threatening, but Axton knew better. Even now, there were likely multiple turrets locked onto his position. Still, Axton couldn’t help but wonder if he stood a chance. As he came closer to the foreboding man, he loosely wondered if he could still take him down if he tried.

After all, he’d done it once before…

“Dahl.”

Jack’s voice was taut. A pistol was held tightly in his grasp, but noticeably hung at his side.

“Jack,” Axton nodded. “Or, y’know… _whatever_ you are.”

This certainly didn’t help to ease the tension in the room. But Jack did not move, other than to tilt his head to the side.

“So you return to the scene of the crime, hm?” he hissed. “Revelling in one of your many exploits?”

Axton paused, eyes lowering to the floor. “I didn’t take any pride in that day.”

“Well, doesn’t that just make up for _everything.”_

“I’m not here for that, Jack,” Axton snapped. “I’m here about Rhys.”

At this, Jack gave pause. He eased back; his expression lightened ever slightly. A vicious stab of envy took hold of Axton, and he did his best to brush it off.

“What _about_ Rhys?”

“He’s not safe. Not with Lilith.”

“Well no shit,” Jack threw his arms up. “Why do you think I’m giving in to her demands!?”

“I mean she’s not _accepting_ your terms,” Axton growled impatiently. “She’s not going to let him go.”

Jack stilled. His hand balled into a fist at his side.

“That _bitch_. Of course she wouldn’t. She’d let Pandora burn before she’d allow me _any_ kind of happiness.”

Axton stiffened. That was a word he never would have been prepared to hear tumbling past Handsome Jack’s lips.

“Well, you _did_ murder her boyfriend.”

Jack lifted his head. He stepped down off the useless machinery where he stood, and crossed the room. Axton maintained his ground as he came close.

“That _pales_ in comparison to what she’s done to me,” Jack breathed, reaching up to grip Axton’s chin with his free hand. “Now tell me what the fuck you’re doing here before I put a bullet in your skull.”

Axton shuddered. As difficult as it was, as much as all the cells in his body screamed at him in betrayal, he closed his eyes, and lowered the rifle in his hands.

“Lilith has the support of the Crimson Raiders,” he swallowed. “As long as they think she’s in the right, they will stand at her side. And Rhys will not go free.”

_“And?”_

“I’m here to surrender. As a bargaining chip, to trade for Rhys’ freedom.”

Jack’s expression tightened.

“…you think you’re an even trade?” he asked, and the hostility in his voice wavered.

Axton shrugged. “Maybe not to Lilith. But to the Raiders, I’m still the one who killed the Warrior.”

He lifted his head to meet Jack’s stare. “I’m still the one who killed Handsome Jack.”

Something shifted in Jack’s face.

“And what happens if you’re wrong.”

“If I’m wrong…” Axton paused. “…if you can guarantee the safety of the Raiders, and the other Vault Hunters, then I will lead you to Rhys.”

Axton purposefully left out Lilith, and Jack noticed.

“What’s in this for you? Last time I checked, you were devoted to the Crimson cause.”

“There’s no cause anymore…” Axton muttered. “Just Lilith. And her obsessions.”

Jack shifted. Axton continued.

“And Rhys doesn’t deserve to be a victim of those obsessions.”

When Jack’s eyes narrowed, Axton did not back down.

“No, he doesn’t. My Rhysie didn’t deserve _any_ of this.”

There it was again. That thick, hateful, _gnawing_ envy.

He fell back a step as Jack lowered his gun. Jack was briefly lost in thought, nodding to himself, and then he was lifting his arm.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, kiddo.”

Axton’s eyes fell to Jack’s extended hand. Everything inside of him urged _wrong, no, run_ , and he fought against it with all his might. He took a long, searing breath, and accepted Jack’s hand, shaking it with a tight grip.

“Let’s go get Rhys.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It gets pretty heavy from here on, just a fair warning.


	23. I Am Jack’s Smirking Revenge

There was a crack in the floor that Rhys hadn’t noticed before. It started at the door, and zigzagged its way through the concrete before coming to a stop at the foot of his bunk. Rhys followed it back and forth, back and forth, until his eyes stung and a dull pain throbbed in his temples. But the more he tried to distract himself and stem the tide of nauseating thoughts that surged through his skull, the further he drifted beneath the waves.

He was aware that he should be afraid — to be fearful of his precarious position amidst the crumbling foundation of the Crimson Raiders. But his mind kept turning back to the memory of Axton’s scent, (gun smoke, sweat, and musk, if you must know), and the tug of thick hands around his hips. And he very much wanted to be angry with Jack for abandoning him, because why hadn’t he swept through town like the Handsome Jack of legend who’d rolled over New Haven with ease? But instead he replayed the moments of waking up in Jack’s arms, and the cold press of that damned couch against his back as Jack pushed his way inside.

Because despite being crushed under the weight of his own bad decisions, and being stuck at the centre of a downright petulant game of tug-o’-war between Handsome Jack and the Firehawk, Rhys simply wasn’t ready to face the devastating conclusion that had been gnawing at him.

But as he sat in his bunk, checking and rechecking the clock on the wall, there was little else he could do. Except for staring at a crack in the floor.

Rhys pressed his face into his hands, moaning softly. He dragged the cool metal of his palm across his cheek, and when he lifted his head again, he flinched at the sudden appearance of a water canteen in his face. His heart palpated, then settled as he saw that it was Zer0, not Axton, who stood on the other side of the offering.

“Thanks,” Rhys muttered, and Zer0 gave a stiff nod. As the lanky Vault Hunter moved away, Rhys watched him in consideration, before glancing to Mordecai, who remained in the doorway of the room. His rifle was pressed into his shoulder, and he surveyed the hallway, looking significantly paranoid. The agitation was justified — Rhys imagined he’d never had to point a gun at an ally before.

Rhys watched his guards with quiet appreciation, before taking a long drink of water, then audibly sighing his frustration.

“Zero…can I ask you something?”

The helmeted Vault Hunter looked his way, but did not respond. Rhys swallowed thickly against the lump in his throat.

“About Jack’s daughter.”

A red exclamation point appeared in the space before Zer0’s sleek mask, but still, he chose not to speak. As the moment stretched on, Rhys took his silence for approval.

“How did it all happen?” Rhys felt a strange heat creep up his neck. “Why was she even on Pandora?”

Zer0 shifted in place, pressing his back against the wall.

“Jack kept her down here. / She was held against her will. / Locked up and alone.”

Rhys’ eyes widened. “Why?”

“Because she was a Siren.”

Mordecai had pivoted in the doorway, the lower half of his face tight with apprehension. Rhys stared heavily at the sniper before his words clicked into place, and his mouth snapped open. Handsome Jack’s daughter — the small, gap-toothed child behind the broken frame on his desk — had been a _Siren?_

“So why lock her up?”

“She was useful,” Mordecai shrugged. “Angel had control over the entire Hyperion network, and a whole lot more. Jack used her to manipulate events all over the galaxy to achieve his goals. She was the reason all of us are here. And the reason some of us aren’t anymore.”

Rhys’ brow furrowed. He felt like he was missing some crucial information, but it wasn’t the right moment to dig. Mordecai was willing to share, so Rhys was ready to listen and absorb.

“Angel was the only reason Handsome Jack became what he is today. She gave him everything. Hyperion, Pandora, Eridium…”

This was a stunning revelation. And it made sense, really. Jack truly was capable of a great many things, but having a powerful Siren at his side would have made him unstoppable.

Or _nearly_ , apparently. “So what happened?”

“It was not enough.” Zer0 droned. “He wanted the Warrior. / He wanted it all.”

“He was obsessed. Power hungry. And all Angel wanted was her father’s love,” Mordecai dropped his gaze. “But Jack never stopped to care about what she needed.”

Rhys placed a hand against his chest where Mordecai’s words cut him deep.

“So Angel led us to her prison. She asked for freedom.”

Lifting his head, Rhys couldn’t help the glare that formed as he looked across at the sniper.

“So why didn’t you let her go?”

A penetrating silence lingered when Mordecai’s gaze shifted back to him.

“I didn’t say she asked to be _released_ , pendejo.”

Something cold coursed through Rhys. His stomach flipped over, and he nearly dropped his head between his knees.

“So I set her free.”

Zer0 was quite suddenly and astonishingly vulnerable — he was crouching now, with a four-fingered hand pressed against his helmet. “I killed Handsome Jack’s daughter. / I killed the angel.”

Rhys couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight of the Vault Hunter on his knees. Zer0 looked heavy with remorse, and Rhys found himself reevaluating everything he’d felt toward him. He was surprised to find that his original assessment of him had indeed been correct.

Zer0 _was_ really cool. It just wasn’t what he’d been expecting.

“And what did Jack do?” Mordecai’s voice darkened. “He stepped over his daughter’s corpse, and put a bullet through Roland’s back. Then he took Lilith, and used her to replace his lost Siren. I’m not sure he even went back for Angel’s body.”

Rhys pressed a hand to his throat where the collar once rested, quietly taking in the information his guards had laid out. It pieced together some of the gaps in his knowledge, and left him feeling strangely hollow. A part of him wanted Jack’s side of the story, thinking — _no_ , _it couldn’t be true_. But the other part simply nodded along. Because yes, that made sense.

For after all, Handsome Jack was a monster. And the worst part of it all was that Rhys had always known that, and it made absolutely no difference.

There was Handsome Jack — the man whose notorious achievements were second to none, and who’d risen to power by strangling the previous Hyperion president to death in his own office.

Then there was Rhys, who’d used the knowledge of that decisively gruesome power move on several occasions to push himself over the edge of climax when he was alone in his room, jerking it to the posters of Jack on his wall.

And everyone else — Isaac, Vaughn, _Ax_ — they’d simply had the misfortune of being caught in the path of destruction that was their relationship.

Rhys had always believed that he was innocent, that he only wanted someone to hold him close and love him. But after Axton had arrived, and offered him something that was _wonderful_ and _safe_ and left him feeling _cherished_ and _needed,_ Rhys realized he’d been fooling himself all along.

He didn’t want any of that. He just wanted Jack.

And on that day that Jack had pinned him to the couch and taken what he’d wanted, when Rhys’ initial impulse was to be _angry,_ he’d always thought it was about the assault. But really, it was that Jack and Rhys had wanted different things. And when Jack at last turned around and accepted what Rhys had _really_ been offering, Rhys was more than happy to lay back and let him take it. He would always give Jack everything he wanted, and so much more.

_I am Jack’s._

Rhys was sick. He craved the violence and the dominance and the pandemonium of it all. And it took little more than the wet heat of Jack’s tongue against his earlobe to send his life careening wildly off course.

This was the conclusion that had been swirling around in the rampant chaos of his mind. That he, too, was a monster. And that he was utterly and irrevocably in love with Handsome Jack. He had tried to fight it, after Jack’s sharp words in his office left him reeling. He couldn’t love a man that said he meant nothing, right to his face.

But he did. He _loved_ Jack.

And it was going to get him killed. Just like it did Angel.

“I am so _fucked.”_

This utterance ripped a shaky laugh out of Mordecai. “Glad you finally see it.”

Rhys didn’t bother lifting his head. He simply sighed, staring in defeat at the crack in the floor.

“I didn’t say I was _ashamed_ of it.”

“I mean, obviously,” Mordecai grunted. “You’re the one fucking the guy who scooped a man’s eyes out with a _spoon.”_

 _That_ was a new piece of information. But still. It changed nothing.

Rhys sank back in the bunk, turning his eyes toward the roof for a new perspective. He felt peculiar, now that he’d admitted it to himself. Like a burden had been lifted from his shoulders. But what would he _do_ with that revelation?

Oddly enough, his mind strayed back to Isaac Andrews of all people.

“I don’t belong to you, or anyone,” Rhys had said to him, shortly before breaking his nose with his elbow. What had happened to _that_ Rhys? The fearless, independent version of himself that didn’t take shit. There were glimpses of him once in a while — in the training sessions with Timothy and when faced with the Maliwan’s troopers. But it was subdued. Hidden away. Why?

 _You don’t need to fight, kitten. That’s what you have_ me _for_.

It all came back to Jack. He loved Jack. And Jack made him weak.

Rhys straightened. He lifted his arm, and activated his ECHOeye. Mordecai and Zer0 stared dumbly across the room while he searched through his contacts, before triggering the call with his palm interface.

His hand vibrated with each attempt to connect. As the seconds ticked on, Rhys whimpered beneath the empty feeling that began to take hold in his chest.

“C’mon, Vaughn,” he whimpered. _“Please.”_

The seconds turned to minutes. Vaughn did not answer.

Rhys turned his palm over. He closed his eyes, and felt a vicious, wrenching pull of regret.

_Rhys, meet curb._

“What the hell?”

He shot Mordecai a look of irritation. “What?”

“How long has your arm been working?”

Rhys’ brows went up. It’d been the first time he’d used his cybernetics since he’d managed to fix them on the day of the Maliwan attack.

“…a while,” he answered. Mordecai seemed to be caught halfway between indignation and confusion.

“So why didn’t you call Jack?”

Oh. Uh.

“I…” Rhys blinked. “…I’m not sure.”

He didn’t have an answer for that. He wished he could have said that he’d simply forgotten about it, instead of quietly waiting for Jack to arrive and _save_ him.

“…you’re really weird, you know that?”

Rhys couldn’t help but laugh. But then a knock came at the door. An initial rush of anxiety gripped him, but Rhys was quick to tamp it down. He was done with being afraid. From now on, everything that was within his control would be handled on _his_ terms.

Even so, he was relieved to see that it was the blue-haired Siren at the door, and not Lilith.

“Maya.” Mordecai turned in place. “What’s the word?”

She shifted nervously, glancing between her allies before setting her sights on Rhys. “It’s time.”

* * *

  
Lilith was waiting for them when they arrived. She was flanked by a number of faceless Crimson Raiders — the red helmeted rejects of Atlas’ past — and stood tall and proud, revelling in her control of the room. Rhys did not deign to look their way as he followed Maya into the room, followed closely behind by Mordecai and Zer0. The pair of Vault Hunters moved to stand decisively between him and the Firehawk, and while this likely set a snarl across her features, Rhys did not notice. He continued to stubbornly stare forward, head held high.

Maya crossed to the holo-table to activate the video feed, and then there was Jack.

Rhys smothered a flicker of heat in his belly before it had time to flourish.

“Jack.” Lilith’s voice was dark.

“Heya, cupcake,” Jack smirked. “How’s your hour been? Productive?”

The effect that Jack’s fresh demeanour had on the room was palpable. All of the rage and desperation of the previous call had disappeared, leaving Jack looking almost _bored_ as he lounged in his office chair. He’d kicked his feet up onto his desk, and even dared to rifle through a nearby snack bag as he awaited Lilith’s response. And just like when he’d silenced the room with his fury, he was somehow able to do the same with a startlingly calm disposition.

_Casual dominance looks good on you, Jack._

Rhys sank back. Something was _wrong._

“We—”

“Mine’s been _great,”_ he interrupted, pressing a handful of pretzels into his mouth. “Decided to send a couple moonshots of loader bots down to Lynchwood. Y’see — Maliwan was getting a little too comfortable in my territory — had to remind ‘em who’s in charge.”

Lilith blanched. _“Your_ territory? Lynchwood is North of Overlook, Jack.”

“Oh man, you’re _right._ I guess it is,” Jack laughed past the mouthful of food. “But then again, you didn’t agree to our little arrangement yet. Awfully short-sighted of you, pumpkin.”

With a rising look of mania, Lilith’s head snapped toward Rhys — as if to confirm that, yes, he was still their prisoner.

“Jack…you _do_ realize—”

“Yeah, yeah, so here’s the thing,” Jack waved a hand to cut her off. “We’re going to forget everything I promised before, and you’re going to hand over Rhys. Sound good?”

“And why would I do that?” Lilith hissed. Jack tossed another pretzel into the air, catching it on the end of his tongue.

“Because otherwise, cupcake, I’m going to airlock your bandit friend here!”

“My—”

The video feed shifted, and Rhys audibly croaked.

Axton was seated in front of Jack’s desk, restrained and gagged. Purple bruising lined his brow where the skin was beginning to swell, and his lip was split open. Blood visibly dotted his jacket in the same place where Rhys had drooled on him while they slept. He was conscious, but barely, sagging forward in his bindings. As Jack reappeared in the camera, crouching at the side of the seat, Axton barely even moved.

“Actually, _actually —_ I’m going to torture the _crap_ out of him, get the location of your shitty little backup hideout, and _then_ I’m going to airlock him. Good times.”

“Ax…” Rhys whimpered. A flicker of light strobed around Lilith; Rhys glanced over to see the Siren _seething,_ fists clenched.

“How…?” she growled. _“How!?”_

“One-man-army over here tried to pull a last-ditch effort to team up with Maliwan,” Jack snorted. “Luckily, _we_ found him first.”

“You loathsome piece of—”

“Ah, ah, cupcake. _Language.”_ Jack mocked. “So, here’s the plan. I’m going to march my troops out onto the Dust. And you’re going to meet us with _your_ ragtag band of outcasts. Then we’re going to have ourselves a good old fashioned prisoner swap.”

Rhys shuddered as Jack reached forward to grip the Commando’s chin and point his face into the camera.

“Jack, you can’t just—”

“Can, and did. Sorry, sweetheart. It’s all over.”

The Firehawk was rendered speechless. Jack eased back with a spiteful grin.

“Now! Any last questions?”

Nothing. No one even moved.

“Good.” Jack nodded, then gave a curt wave. “See you soon, pumpkin.”

The feed cut out.

“What…” Mordecai rocked back. “What the hell just happened?”

“Fucking dumb shit _imbecile Axton!”_ Lilith’s arm flared with life. “What was he thinking!?”

“He was probably trying to stop you from making a mistake the rest of us would regret,” Rhys snarled. Maya shot him a look of disbelief.

Lilith slammed a hand onto the holo-table.

“No. This isn’t happening. This is _not_ a fair trade.”

Mordecai flinched, but didn’t miss a beat. “This _is_ happening, Lilith. He has _Ax.”_

“That idiot knew what he was getting into,” Lilith snarled. “I’m not letting this slip through my fingers!”

The Crimson Raiders at Lilith’s back exchanged looks. Maya hazarded a step forward.

“Lilith…” she muttered, ever cautious. “…This is _Axton_ we’re talking about. Look at everything he’s done for us. How much he put on the line, just because you asked it of him.”

“It’s time, Lil’. You gotta let it go.” Mordecai lowered his sniper, then crossed the room. Despite the lick of flame dancing across Lilith’s frame, he rested a hand on her shoulder. “Roland is _dead._ And that hurts somethin’ fierce. But Axton isn’t. We gotta do right by the people we have left.”

Rhys watched in silent awe. Lilith tensed, and he almost expected her massive wings to erupt into the small space between them. But then she was on her knees. She pressed her hands to her face, and her shoulders jerked with silent sobs. Maya immediately fell to her side, tugging her into an embrace.

“There was a time when you didn’t want any of this,” she hummed, pressing her face into Lilith’s hair. “But you stepped up. You took on the burden of leadership in a way that would have made Roland proud.”

Lilith shuddered. Maya went on.

“This fight is far from over. But right now, you need to stand up for your people. Everyone is looking to you to make the right decision. The decision Roland would have made. And that starts with bringing Axton home.”

Rhys closed his eyes. The balance had tipped. Once again, Jack had control. But despite this, he knew it wouldn’t be enough to—

 _“Fine,”_ Lilith croaked. “You win. _Take him.”_

Rhys’ eyes snapped open; he stared hard at the downed Firehawk. _No,_ he thought. _That was too easy._

But then Mordecai was shoving him, directing him out the door.

“Okay, Rhys,” he urged. “Move it. _Now.”_

“W-wait,” he stuttered. “No — hold on a second.”

“Rhys, _move,”_ Mordecai repeated.

His voice was frayed with urgency, and Rhys surrendered, despite the new panic that had set in. Zer0 was at his back, following close behind.

“It is time to go. / I hope you are ready, Rhys.” Zer0 placed a hand onto his shoulder, and Rhys shivered. “This won’t be easy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted early because I was so damn excited for this chapter.
> 
> It was my favourite to write because Rhys finally comes to terms with who he is, and it's always fun to write Jack when he's in this dominant mood.
> 
> Just remember though - just because Rhys has accepted who he is doesn't mean he knows what to do with it. It's not over yet, kiddos.


	24. To Destroy A Man

_“That’s close enough.”_ Jack’s voice crackled intimidatingly over the loudspeakers, a wonderfully commanding sound despite the electronic distortion. _“Alright, cupcake. You show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”_

When the bandit technical slid to a stop, Rhys shuddered in anticipation. He shifted excitedly against the restraints on his wrists, struggling to sneak a look past the blindfold that had been hastily tied around his head, and failing. Soon enough, the offending piece of material was tugged away, revealing Maya standing at the end of the technical. She gestured for Rhys with a jerk of her head.

“Okay, kid. Up you get.”

He was on his feet in an instant, awkwardly shuffling toward the edge of the truck bed. Slipping off the end, he dropped shakily onto sandy terrain to trail after the Siren, and as they strode out across the open ground, Rhys lifted his head to squint past the intense sunlight toward the lineup of Hyperion infantry in the distance. His heart leapt into his throat upon noticing that, along with a collection of human troopers, there were two dozen WAR and SGT loaders, along with a Super Badass loader, aiming all six massive cannons in their direction.

It was _glorious._

At the centre of it all was Jack, looking like a man ready to go to war. He stood ten paces ahead of the rest, a hand on his hip and the other gripping a pistol. Rhys’ breath snagged at the sight; he pressed his palm to his chest against the unexpected surge of _need, want._

“Jack—”

Rhys stumbled, taking an involuntary step into the stretch of ground between them.

“Hold up, tiger,” Maya hummed, gently gripping his shoulder.

Rhys spared her a look in confusion, but his attention quickly skipped to the view that was behind her. The number of Crimson Raiders at her back were, well, _paltry._ There were maybe four dozen in total, and while they outnumbered the Hyperion human infantry, and were armed to the teeth, it was meaningless with the force that Jack had at his disposal.

If it wasn’t for the Vault Hunters, of course.

Zer0, Brick, and Mordecai all stood in a line, dispersed along the front of the Raiders, a few metres apart. With them were a few others that Rhys did not recognize — a red-headed teenager with a frankly _awesome_ looking robot that hovered at her side, a smaller, intense looking man toting a large pair of combat rifles, and a terrifyingly _huge_ psycho, who carried nothing but a buzz axe.

Rhys’ jaw snapped open. They were all there for Axton. All ready to fight. Except for _Lilith._

“Your turn, Jack,” Maya shouted, giving a wave of her marked arm.

Rhys managed to tear his eyes away from the bizarrely well-behaved psycho to gaze back toward the Hyperion lineup. Jack had turned, and with a simple gesture, instructed a helmeted trooper close to his side to advance to one of the vehicles behind the lineup. A door opened. Axton climbed out.

At the appearance of the Commando on the scene, Rhys’ shoulders heaved with a peculiar wash of nausea. It was strange, watching his two worlds collide. As Axton arrived at Jack’s side, Jack rested a menacing hand on his shoulder, pressing his Reaper pistol to his jaw. Despite this, Axton remained ever defiant, back straight and head held high. But while Axton had the broader frame, Jack had the height advantage.

He also exuded a dark confidence as he nudged the pistol against Axton’s cheek, expression heavy as he muttered something into his ear. And there he was — the Handsome Jack of Rhys’ dreams, dominant in even the simplest gestures. It all served to set Rhys’ skin on fire.

But as he watched the two, ever-familiar, conflicting emotions began to swirl in Rhys’ gut, adding to the bile that crept up his throat. His eyes lingered on Axton — sweet, thoughtful, strong Axton, who just happened to be a Vault Hunter with a particularly blood stained past. Then beside him, Jack — _Handsome Jack_ — who was _everything Rhys ever wanted_ and was the epitome of all that was terrible for him.

Lost in some bizarre, listless headspace, Rhys flinched in surprise when Maya bodily turned him to face her.

“Are you ready?” she asked quietly, working to remove his restraints.

Rhys hesitated in consideration. Wait, so this was actually happening?

Feeling another pulse of unease at Lilith’s absence, he turned once more to gaze toward the Raiders, only to pause as his eyes swept across Zer0’s vigilant frame. The Vault Hunter had angled his head to look their way, and when he gave Rhys a solid, distinct nod, Rhys felt a rush of some unknown, heavy emotion. Despite his muted surprise, he returned the gesture, then turned before the redness in his cheeks became evident, flexing his wrists as an excuse to avert his attention.

“Yeah,” he nodded, bolstered by some strange, new courage. “I’m ready.”

“Okay.” Maya sidled up against him, resting her hand against his back. “We’re ready, Jack. I’m going to walk him halfway.”

Jack did not respond, but there was movement in the distance. The Hyperion soldier who had retrieved Axton from the vehicle was now shoving him along, leading him out across the open ground at the muzzle of his gun. Jack stayed where he was.

Utter silence blanketed the valley as they walked. Not even the rakk flying overhead gave their telltale shrieks, as if they understood the significance of what was about to occur. All Rhys could hear was the soft crunch of sand under his boots, and a far-off, bizarre hum that worried at his inner ears. He shook his head against the discomfort, but did not give it a lot of attention, too absorbed with having to remind himself to _breathe_ as they soon came within range of Axton and the trooper.

“Here is fine,” the trooper grunted past a crackling modulator. Maya stopped as well, placing a hand onto Rhys’ shoulder.

“Good luck, Rhys.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear. “For everything.”

The Siren smiled, then gave a gentle pat to Rhys’ back. Free from Maya’s grasp, Rhys turned and stepped toward his salvation, shuddering with bizarre excitement. Axton’s arrival was delayed, as the Hyperion trooper at his side pressed something into his hand, and then the Commando was advancing to meet him halfway.

Rhys sagged at the sight of the man across from him. Axton had been cleaned up, but there was still some swelling around his bruised eye socket. A number of stitches peeked out from his lip, and a few blood stains yet remained on his clothing, peaking out beneath his dusty jacket.

“Ax…”

“Hey there, Rhys,” he smiled weakly.

“Did he…” Rhys shivered with unease. “Are you okay?”

Axton rubbed at the raw skin of his wrists with a shrug. “Nothin’ I couldn’t handle, sweetheart.”

Rhys winced.

“Oh. That guy told me to give you this.”

Rhys stared at the cylindrical item in Axton’s hand. His lips parted; he lifted his head to gaze across at the trooper, realizing he recognized the broad shoulders and tall frame of the helmeted man. Rhys nodded his way, flush with relief, and the trooper tilted his head in response. Then Rhys leaned forward to accept the contracted stun baton from Axton’s hand.

“I’m sorry you got caught up in this,” Rhys sighed, clipping the baton into place on his belt.

“It was my fault. I was asking for it. Wasn’t exactly careful.”

Rhys frowned. He eyed Axton suspiciously, easing back. “…why _did_ you leave, Ax? There’s no way you would’ve gone to Mal…”

He paled. Axton averted his gaze.

“You _let_ them capture you.”

“I had to.”

_“Why?”_

“Lilith was never going to let you go, Rhys,” Axton’s expression turned dark. “She’s obsessed. And when she’s obsessed, she gets—”

“Dangerous,” Rhys uttered. “And irrational.”

_Just like Jack._

A silent understanding passed between them; Rhys felt his heart palpate. When he looked at Axton again, his hands burned. He recalled the warmth of his arms around his shoulders, the rough caress of his lips. The strong but _too gentle_ touch at his hips. But as Rhys glanced warily into the distance, toward Jack’s imposing and _impatient_ figure, he kept his hands firmly tucked at his sides.

“Well…I guess this is it. I’m sorry, again, I—”

“Hey…” Axton moved forward, into a proximity that set off warning bells in Rhys’ head. Rhys nearly lifted his arm to maintain separation, concerned by their watchful audience, but he froze as Axton caught his gaze. The soldier’s voice dropped to a murmur that only they could hear. 

“You don’t gotta worry about me now. But if you ever need to get away, you know where I am, okay?”

 _‘Escape’_ lingered unsaid between them. Rhys’ eyes flickered between Axton to Jack in the distance. To his surprise, Jack watched with a strangely dulled expression, although his hand carefully gripped the Reaper at his side.

“Okay. Yeah. Thanks, Ax.”

“…take care of yourself, Rhys.”

“You, too—”

Axton’s head dipped forward, and Rhys’ vision went fuzzy. A whimper of shock escaped his chest with a shiver against the sudden, insistent press of Axton’s lips. He felt a scratch of stitches along with the wet heat of a tongue, and Rhys sank into it. But just as he was tempted to lift his hand to grip the back of Axton’s neck, to tug him close, he instead flinched at the deafening crack of a gunshot.

Rhys’ insides were awash with a flood of cold, desperate fear as Axton’s touch disappeared. His eyes snapped wide; he staggered back as the Commando faltered, mouth parted and expression pinched with disbelief, before falling onto his knees.

_“Ax!”_

Something akin to _chaos_ arose around them; lasers and mortar ripped across the dust. But Rhys didn’t notice. He dropped with Axton, pressing against his chest to keep him upright.

“Ax. Axton. Look at me. _Hey.”_

“Rhys…” Axton hissed, tipping his head into Rhys’ neck. Rhys tugged at the zipper of Axton’s jacket to tear it downward. His hand came back covered in blood; his eyes moved in horror from his slick fingers to the dark red plume soaking through Axton’s shirt.

“No _…no.”_ Rhys urged. The soldier’s gaze flickered, and he leaned heavily into Rhys’ chest. Rhys pressed his flesh hand tight against the wound on his side, looping his free arm around his neck as he lowered him sideways to the ground, flinching with every shudder he felt ripple through the other man. “Stay with me, Ax. _Look_ at me.”

Axton didn’t respond. His eyes had fluttered shut. Rhys watched carefully, noting that his chest continued to rise and fall, albeit slowly. He slid his hand around Axton’s side, feeling about for an exit wound and finding none.

“Eyes open, Ax. Stay with me. Stay—”

A sudden wind buffeted them; the wavering in Rhys’ ears grew tantamount and he at last lifted his head as a pair of Maliwan dropships appeared in the sky above. They rocketed over the valley to deposit troops on the far end of the battlefield, adding to the bedlam that Axton’s gesture had brought upon them.

Rhys shivered with adrenaline and fear as he turned back to hunch down and press an ear to Axton’s chest.

“Breathe, Ax,” he whispered. _“Please.”_

A hand gripped painfully tight on Rhys’ shoulder and wrenched him backward. He cried out in alarm, arm outstretched in vain to reach for Axton as he was dragged onto his ass.

“On your feet, Rhys!”

The tinny voice was distant over the din. Rhys somehow scrambled up as the trooper pulled him along. Dust and rock erupted into the air around them. Maliwan blasts and Hyperion bullets ripped past; the two hunkered low against the pandemonium. Flashes of blue Siren light arced through the sky. A deafening blast rocked the ground. But still, Rhys could not tear his eyes away from Axton’s unmoving form. He was rewarded with a modicum of relief as Maya appeared at the soldier’s side, stabbing an Insta-Health into his abdomen, but he still resisted his backward course.

“Come _on,_ cupcake!”

This was enough to tear his attention away from the man on the ground. Rhys pivoted at the familiar moniker as a hand looped around his waist.

“Tim,” he croaked. “I have to—”

The pair stumbled to a halt at a nearby flash of movement. They turned together to dumbly watch the grenade as it rolled across the ground, but in the next instant, he was on his chest with the trooper laid over him. The grenade exploded, and the trooper’s shield flared with life.

“Fuck.” Rhys groaned in pain. His head swam; his ears buzzed with a strange, deafening ambience. “That hurt.”

A hand gripped his arm as Timothy’s weight disappeared from his back. Rhys deftly angled his head, eyes lingering briefly on the discarded, broken helmet on the ground before turning upward to Handsome Jack’s face where it hovered over him.

“We gotta go, pumpkin,” he shouted over the din, a command Rhys barely heard past the ringing in his ears. “Come on!”

“I _can’t,”_ he argued, struggling to get back onto his feet. He glanced again over his shoulder, searching for Axton’s prone shape on the ground, but as the dust swirled high and stained the sky, he could no longer see beyond thirty feet in the direction from which they had come.

Rhys winced in surprise as he was turned; hands appeared on his cheeks to gently grip his head and hold him in place.

“Rhysie, baby, _listen_ to me. I need you to focus. I’m not letting you _die_ out here. We have to go — _now.”_

His eyes widened; his heart leapt into his throat. _“…Jack?”_

“Yeah, kitten,” Jack nodded. “It’s me. Now c’mon. It’s time to leave.”

Rhys wordlessly obeyed. His breath caught as Jack’s fingers looped through his like they belonged, and they started their way back toward the Hyperion lineup.

He spied the second Handsome Jack — Tim — in the distance, before his eyes swept along the advancing group of infantry. In the next moment he almost tripped, finally noticing the latest addition to their forces.

The troopers had deployed massive, _beautiful_ turrets, which absolutely _hammered_ at the multiple Maliwan ships overhead. His ears popped with every heavy sound as they fired massive rounds into the opposing forces, quickly levelling the field. Rhys groaned, tightening his grip on Jack’s hand.

They were _his_ turrets. And they were _lovely._

Jack tugged him close, arm tight around his waist. And the closer they got to safety, to the promise of _home,_ the more Rhys’ chest flushed with heat. He moved his cybernetic hand to clutch at Jack’s armour, gripped with a sudden, intense possessiveness, and Jack rewarded him with a squeeze of his fingers, turning his gaze to meet his eyes.

“Heya, kitten,” he smirked. “Did you miss me?”

“More than I knew,” Rhys admitted. “You goddamn jerk.”

Jack gave him a faint grin, dipping his head forward. But before he could feel the brush of that synthetic mask on his lips, a thunderous _crack_ overhead brought them stumbling to a halt.

Jack instinctively pulled him close to brace against one another as a pair of Maliwan ships, wreathed in flame, crashed across the ground in front of them. Twisted metal chunks and sand _erupted_ into the air; Rhys shrank behind Jack’s frame as they stumbled back.

The ships broke apart upon striking the ground, scattering across a long swath of land to block their path. And as they slowly rolled to a halt, what remained burst into flames. It became a very literal firewall, standing between them and the Hyperion front.

Rhys grabbed onto Jack, pressing into his back.

“Jack, what—”

“We’ll need to go around,” he growled, walking him backward. But as Rhys scanned the wreckage, at the distance between where they stood and where the smouldering line ended, he knew as well as Jack that they were sitting ducks. Jack retrieved the Vision pistol from his hip, holding it aloft. He briefly released Rhys’ fingers to bring his watch up to his mouth. “Tim. Gonna need an assist here.”

_“On the way. Get to cover.”_

Rhys glanced around uselessly. Unless they wanted to climb into what remained of the ships, there was nowhere else to go. He studied the path of destruction and froze, eyes wide in horror as the air over the ships distorted and erupted with light. The _pop_ of purple energy exploded, leaving a very angry, vengeful Lilith standing atop the downed vessel.

“Handsome Jack,” she called out, voice rife with fury. “Where do you think _you’re_ going?”

* * *

“Sir! The asset is out of reach!”

_Shit. Shit shit shit._

“The Raiders appear to be retreating,” the soldier at his side barked. “But the line of Vault Hunters is holding strong.”

“Have the loaders push them back. Keep the turrets on Maliwan,” he ordered. “I’m going after Strongfork.”

“Yessir!”

Timothy slapped a fresh clip into his Reaper before pressing a hand to the pocket watch affixed to the lapel of his jacket. His frame shimmered as the cloaking device took effect, then he was making his way across the chaos of the battlefield. He headed for the closest end of the downed ships, sprinting awkwardly over the sand dunes.

Climbing past the start of the wreckage, his nostrils flared in disgust at the smell of burnt flesh and smoke. A number of dead soldiers were strewn about, clearly victims of the crash. Tim wrinkled his nose, scanning the area. The battle still raged on across the valley, as Maliwan flanked both the bandit and Hyperion forces. Tim caught sight of a nearby fight — a number of Raiders pinned down behind a bandit technical by advancing troops — and kept quiet, dragging himself onto a larger piece of the downed ship to access the vantage point.

An alarming amount of Maliwan ships had arrived in the valley, but they were keeping their distance while trying to dodge moonshots from above. The turrets on the Hyperion lineup were also providing an excellent defense, discouraging both enemy forces from advancing. Timothy’s eyes swept along the Crimson Raiders, confirming that they did appear to be retreating. Their numbers had dwindled, either from heavy losses or men on the run, which left behind a select few who were locked in intense battle.

The Siren, Maya, fought back to back with Salvador; she used her Phaselock skill to lift loader bots into the sky before the Gunzerker turned his combat rifles on them. Not far off, the psycho Krieg was bashing his way through a group of Maliwan troopers, slicing off limbs and heads with the effortless swing of his buzz axe. Tim didn’t doubt that the rest were nearby, fighting somewhere beyond the billowing smoke obscuring half of the area. He sank back onto his haunches in awe, captivated by the sight.

It filled him with a strange, almost nauseating nostalgia, as he pictured Wilhelm, Athena, and Nish’ tearing through a fray of Dahl enforcers. However, he was quick to shake it off, intent on finding Jack and Rhys somewhere amidst the chaos.

But he was interrupted yet again as a nearby panel in the wreckage of the ship twisted, buckled, and exploded away from its frame. It left behind a dark opening, and a cloud of dust, through which a trooper crawled on his hands and knees, trying to clear the gap with the unwieldy gear on his back.

The soldier coughed, appearing disoriented as he shuffled to his feet before casting his gaze about his vicinity. Timothy was a mere ten feet away, watching in silence as the Maliwan trooper considered his surroundings.

“For fuck’s sake,” he grunted. “I should have killed him when I had the chance. Nothing is worth this ludicrous _bullshit.”_

Timothy rippled with vicious indignation. _Did he mean_ —

“Sir!”

He turned in time to watch the arrival of a Jet trooper descending from the sky. Tim’s eyes narrowed in suspicion; his finger slid onto the Reaper’s trigger.

“The target has disappeared. But the other asset is still on the field.”

_Shit._

“Okay?” the other trooper hissed. “So _go get him.”_

“There’s a problem, sir. The Fi—”

“I don’t want your excuses. I want that asset!”

It was impossible to hide the sound of his boots sliding down the slick metal surface, or the crunch of sand under his feet. But Timothy was quick enough that the troopers had only looked dumbly in his direction before he raised the Reaper and raked it across the Jet trooper’s throat, effectively slicing through his armour in a single blow. His esophagus cracked and buckled with the motion, coating Tim’s arm in blood. Immediately after the corpse toppled to the ground, Timothy’s body thrummed with energy as his gun siphoned the soldier’s health, feeding it back into him.

“What the _fuck?”_

Timothy’s cloak fluttered oddly, disabling upon the completion of the attack. But he was close enough to attempt a second strike; he swung the pistol toward the other trooper’s head and pulled the trigger.

The trooper’s shape _shimmered._ A trail of light danced through the air. Tim’s eyes drew wide as the soldier darted to the side, only to reappear behind him. He slammed the butt of his gun into Timothy’s back, forcing him to the ground. Landing with a grunt on his knee, Tim kicked himself into a roll, spinning as he regained his footing. But just as he lifted the Reaper into the air, the trooper was levelling a rifle straight back at him.

“Well now…” he hummed. “If it isn’t Handsome Jack himself.”

Timothy lifted his head with a tight smirk. “In the flesh, kiddo.”

“So. The kid _does_ know how to lie.”

“And what does _that_ mean?”

The trooper chuckled, hefting the assault rifle. “The prisoner. He claimed not to know you. But here you are...making a very public appearance to get him back.”

“The programmer?” Tim sneered. “This isn't about the stupid kid. This was to show those bandits that nobody steals from Hyperion and gets away with it.”

“Nobody, huh?”

The trooper straightened, looking over his shoulder. Timothy followed his gaze, and felt his heart clench.

Halfway down the line of wreckage, where the main bulk of the second downed ship had come to a rest, a very familiar pair of silhouettes stood out amongst open ground.

“I’m going to let you prove it to me.”

The trooper’s pack flared with life. Timothy leapt forward in a vain attempt to latch onto him, but his hand closed on empty air. As the Maliwan trooper slipped from his grasp, he cackled, reappearing several feet away alongside a larger piece of machinery.

“Sorry, Jacky boy. Gonna have to be faster than—”

A narrow line of light flared and slashed across the trooper’s pack. It exploded, sending him careening to the ground.

The Maliwan trooper cursed, slumping against the sand. He rolled onto his side, slipping his hand along his ribs, and lifted his head toward the shape looming over his prone form.

“Sorry, Maliwan. / I can’t let you do that. Now…” the Vault Hunter, Zer0, moved the tip of his sword to brush the underside of the soldier’s helmet. “Get off this planet.”

Timothy’s eyes edged wide. He hefted the Reaper, but kept his distance and remained silent. Zer0 lifted his head in his direction, briefly, before twisting the sword in his wrist and gazing back to the downed man.

“You helmeted freak,” the trooper spat. “Are you working for Hyperion now?”

“Do not be deceived. / Our goals currently align. / We are not allies.”

_What?_

“And what goals are _those?”_

“To see Rhys go home. / To put a stop to this fight.” Zer0 angled his head. “To send you packing.”

Well. That was an interesting development. Timothy wavered, conflicted on how to proceed, when his eyes drew upward to an arriving Maliwan dropship. The next words that left his lips were ones he’d never expected to utter using Handsome Jack’s voice.

“Zero, get your goddamn head down!”

The Vault Hunter smoothly moved out of the way as a volley of plasma hit the sand around him. Timothy similarly ducked aside to take cover from the overhead assault. Another Jet trooper emerged from the ship, descending quickly to the Flash trooper’s side.

“This is not over, Jack,” the downed trooper shouted. “Not by a long shot.”

“That’s real cute, kiddo,” Timothy leaned out from behind the gnarled metal, shooting the soldier a tight smirk. “Keep pretending you’re worth my time.”

He was rewarded with a snarling shout and a barrage of bullets, and had to skirt out to slip behind a larger chunk of smouldering machinery. The sound of displaced air warbled at his ears, and a rushing wind buffeted the area as the dropship lifted higher. Claps of turret fire echoed in the distance as the Hyperion lineup tracked its departure.

Timothy, satisfied that the ship was gone, slipped around the warped debris, only to come face-to- well, _helmet,_ with Zer0. The Vault Hunter seemed as surprised as he was; his sword sliced effectively through the air. It came to a stop just below Tim’s pocket watch, nudging his ribs as the Reaper likewise pressed into the soft underside of Zer0’s chin.

The pair froze in place, and Timothy did his best to quash the ripple of fear, upon realizing he was locked in a very precarious position with one of Jack’s most hated enemies.

“Listen, kiddo,” he hissed. “I’m going to level with you. I’m not Jack.”

Zer0 said nothing. He did, however, very slightly angle his head. A red, holographic ellipsis appeared in front of his helmet, and Timothy swallowed hard.

“If you look to your right, you’re gonna see two people,” he continued. “One of those is the _real_ Handsome Jack. And beside him is Rhys.”

The Vault Hunter tensed.

“It is difficult / to trust what you are saying / given our standoff.”

Timothy exhaled sharply. “Cupcake, I don’t have _time_ to convince you, I—”

He paused in consideration. With a shake of the head, he did his best to cast off his Handsome Jack persona, shedding the heavy expressions and _superior-to-you-in-every-way_ attitude. He dropped his shoulders, and slowly, carefully, lowered the Reaper.

He really, _really_ hoped this would work.

“You want to help Rhys, right?” he asked. Zer0 seemed to drift back at the difference in the tone of his voice. “That’s all I care about. Now please. Help me do that.”

Zer0 said nothing. Then quite suddenly, he withdrew his sword, and took a significant step back.

“I will assist you. / If you are not Handsome Jack, / then what is your name?”

He straightened. “...Timothy. Lawrence.”

Zer0 reached his arm forward, offering a — wait, four fingers? — hand. Timothy stepped forward to firmly grasp it.

“Greetings, Timothy,” the Vault Hunter droned. “Do not make me regret this. / I am trusting you.”

“Believe me, kiddo,” he laughed shakily. “I know what you’re capable of.”

The pair flinched at a distant _crack_ of sound. They turned together, and Timothy went pale at the sight of the Firehawk, who stood atop a burning Maliwan dropship. He immediately released Zer0’s hand, recoiling with concern.

“We need to move now,” Zer0 instructed, defying Timothy’s expectations. “Lilith will try to kill him. / We need to stop her.”

Timothy stared for a frozen, agonizing moment at the Vault Hunter. But now wasn’t the time to question his sudden betrayal of the Firehawk.

“With her Phasewalk, she’s goddamn invincible. But there’s gotta be a way,” Timothy lifted his Reaper. “C’mon, cupcake. We need to get closer.”  
  


* * *

There was no question where the Firehawk got her name. For a moment, Rhys half believed a phoenix had appeared at the top of the wreckage. But there was something _off_ about her. She almost looked to be overflowing with eridium; her body was awash with a sickly purple glow, and her eyes burned hollow with fire and heat. The air around them shot up in temperature as she began to descend the twisted metal wreck, leaving flaming footprints wherever she stepped. Lilith lifted an arm, tightening her first, and fire danced across her flesh.

At the sight of the furious Siren, Rhys expected only fear. He had been fully prepared to shrink back in the awe of her might, and accept whatever fate had been bestowed upon him. But as she stepped down onto the sand across from them, pressing crystallized imprints beneath her feet, all Rhys could focus on was the tight grip of his fingers held in Jack’s grasp.

He turned to gaze at Jack, whose mask was contorted and tight. He audibly growled, as a fierce, years-old hatred boiled to the surface, bringing that desire to _maim, kill, destroy._ But much to Rhys’ surprise, his first action was to take a step sideways, and place himself between Rhys and Lilith.

Rhys moved close, pressing his chin against Jack’s shoulder.

“Kitten,” he muttered past a distinct hiss of breath. “When I say the word, you _run.”_

“No, Jack,” Rhys shook his head. “I’m not leaving you.”

Lilith’s body pulsed with a near-blinding light; those two wings of solid flame unfurled from her back. She began to move toward them once more, and Jack lifted his pistol to empty a clip into her shifting form while simultaneously walking Rhys backward. It did little good; the bullets almost seemed to dissolve in the heat shield around her form. Lilith’s laughter turned manic, and her shape shimmered as she emerged from the smoke and flame swirling about her body in a Phasewalk.

In the distance, just over the hulking shell of the downed Maliwan ship, Rhys could have sworn he saw movement. Some indistinct blur climbing into place. But as he crowded close to Jack’s back, and watched as the Firehawk came closer, he paid it little mind.

“There was something you said once, Jack, about how to ruin someone, that really stuck with me,” Lilith began, and her voice dropped to a casual, unsettling tone. “Around the time that you strapped explosives to Bloodwing’s throat. Do you remember what that was?”

Jack did not answer her. He stiffened, then turned his head just enough to glance at Rhys. The eye contact was brief, but deep, and Rhys shuddered against him.

“No? Well, that’s fair. You love the sound of your voice so much that you never really do shut the hell up. So let me remind you.”

Lilith was upon them in the blink of an eye. Jack had done his best to brace against the attack, but it wasn’t enough, and the next thing Rhys knew, he was on his back in the sand. He felt the impact to his shoulders with a solid _crunch_ , then suddenly all he could see was the bright blue sky. Stars danced in his vision and copper filled his mouth.

He ignored the hum of pain in his back, the wrenching of muscles, and rolled onto his chest, reaching blindly for Jack. But when he pushed himself onto his palms, he was painfully forced to straighten, as hands gripped his shoulders and a knee pressed into his spine.

All around, there were towering pillars of dust and smoke. Distant sounds of turret fire and shouting echoed across the valley. The ground shook with every explosion. But between them, there was silence. It was just the three of them now, isolated in their own pocket of hell.

Jack was across from him, only just regaining traction and his dropped pistol. Lilith was at Rhys’ back, arm hooked around his throat in a loose headlock. Her flames were subdued, just enough to pin him into place and hold him at her mercy.

Jack’s eyes were wide with something Rhys had never seen before.

Lilith chuckled. “You said — ‘you want to destroy a man, you don’t need to kill him. You just need to kill what he loves.’”

Rhys’ eyelids fluttered. He winced against her heated grasp.

“Lilith.” Jack’s voice was fractured. “Let him go. _Now.”_

“Now this…this is _incredible._ Look at you. Handsome Jack. Falling apart over a pretty face. Let’s see how far we can take this, shall we?” she smirked. “Get on your knees.”

White hot rage flashed through Rhys’ chest. His skin rippled with fury, and he almost _laughed_ at her insult.

Because this was Handsome Jack, not some two-bit side story villain. He was a man who did not back down. He took one look at what fate had offered and said “fuck that”, and carved his own destiny. Jack was a titan amongst mere mortals, and no eridium-overdosing Siren with a grudge was going to change that.

So when Jack slowly, silently dropped to a knee, everything inside of Rhys went deathly quiet.

“Jack,” Rhys wavered. “Jack, _no.”_

“Rhysie. I _have_ to.”

“You _don’t,_ Jack,” he insisted. “You’re going to get back on your feet. And we’re going to walk out of this together.”

Lilith laughed. “Oh? Is that so?”

“This is between you and me, Lilith,” Jack barked. “Let Rhys go, and you and I can handle this on our terms.”

“I don’t think so,” she snapped. “Not after what you did to Roland.”

“Roland was a _bandit_ and a _child murderer._ He took away my baby girl. For that, he had to _die._ But Rhys is a _programmer._ He’s just as goddamn innocent as my Angel was.”

“We’re long past acts of honour, Jack,” Lilith snarled. “I’m done playing this game. It’s been going on for too long, and I’m tired.”

She lifted her hand, and it disappeared in a wash of white flame.

“Sorry, Rhys. Looks like you fell for the wrong guy.”

Rhys shivered as her hand came close to his face; he stared mournfully at the broken man that knelt in the sand across from him.

“Say ‘good-bye’, Jack.”

Jack rose from the ground. He surged toward them, racing across the sand, his mask contorted with fury and fear.

But just as Rhys felt Lilith’s frame tense, and her hand drifted closer, the clap of a sniper shot cracked through the sky.

Lilith and Rhys rocked together; blood slapped across the sand at their feet. Rhys cried out, then fell, dropping onto his prosthetic before rolling onto his back. Lilith similarly faltered, but remained standing, face blank with disbelief. Rhys watched as a heavy red plume darkened her shirt.

“I…” The flames faded. Her tattoos dimmed. She dropped her head, gazing down at herself in awe. “This…this isn’t supposed to…”

Rhys sneered, feeling a bizarre pulse of adrenaline.

“Hey Lilith,” he snarled. “This is for that goddamn collar.”

The stun baton extended to full length. Sparking violently, it stabbed into Lilith’s frame, just below the growing stain of blood, and she gave a deafening shriek.

The air rippled with intense distortion. And then she was just _gone._

Rhys wavered. His eyes hung in the empty air where she had been standing, and his body vibrated with energy.

Was that really it?

Was that…

Rhys dropped the stun baton, suddenly too weak to grip it. His head sank back into the sand as Jack appeared at his side to press a hand to his face.

“Oh, hey…” he whimpered, coughing shakily. “Jack.”

“Rhysie,” Jack’s voice was tight. “No. No, no, no, _no.”_

“It’s okay, Jack,” he groaned. “I think she’s gone.”

Jack dropped his hands to Rhys’ frame. He held them together, leaning over Rhys as he pressed them down against his chest. Rhys watched in muted curiosity before he noticed the blood that drenched his shirt, and now Jack’s hands.

“Rhysie,” he hissed. “Talk to me, kitten. Say something.”

“Jack,” he croaked, letting his head sink deeper into the sand. He still rippled with adrenaline, and something else, as a cold, wet feeling blanketed his back. “I’m ready to go home, now.”

That same, familiar shape flickered into view, just behind Jack. Rhys blinked furiously past the tears that had somehow collected in his vision, barely able to recognize the sniper rifle that dangled in the man’s grasp.

“Handsome Jack. Take this.”

Jack’s head snapped around. He said nothing, but there was a distinct pause. Rhys whined against a ripple of pain, before coughing blood onto his lips. His eyelids grew heavy, so he decided it was best just to close them.

“Hold still, Rhysie.”

Something sharp stabbed into the flesh of his shoulder. A thick, lovely warmth flowed through his muscles, and he felt a foreign sensation of _curling, twisting flesh._ It was somehow both _amazing_ and _just the grossest thing in the world._ He was writhing against it when fingers caressed across his forehead.

Rhys frowned, trying to gaze up at Jack as his eyelids heavily sagged. Reaching a hand out, he laughed dumbly. “Hey Jack… there’s _two_ of you…”

“Tim’s here, kiddo. We’re both here.”

“Tim,” he echoed. “Oh...good…”

Something odd clicked back into place in his shoulder. Rhys moaned in response, and felt Jack tense around him. Despite the bizarre shifting in his chest, and the wash of fatigue, Rhys chuckled.

“Hah,” he grinned. “That moan. Does it every time, huh, Jack?”

Jack exhaled softly; Rhys felt the heat of his breath on his cheek.

“…yeah, Rhysie. Sure does.” he hummed.

“Jack…”

“Yeah, kitten?”

“I love you, Jack.”

“...I love you too, Rhys.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry.


	25. All Yours

“Hey. You know that smell…when you walk into a room where someone has been sleeping?”

Rhys made a face. “Yeah. Like a disgusting heat from them mouth breathing for hours on end mixed with general body odours. It’s gross.”

“Yeah, well…” Axton nudged his foot with his boot. “That’s what you smell like right now.”

He couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up in his chest, and was quick to reach out to slug the soldier’s arm in retaliation. Axton responded by snagging his wrist, effortlessly spinning him against his chest.

“Stop!” Rhys snorted. “Don’t be a dick.”

“Nah. You love it.”

“If I smell so bad, why do you insist on being so close to me?”

“Because.” Axton dipped his head, hooking his chin onto Rhys’ shoulder. He fell still, and Rhys leaned into his frame. “I’m not ready to let go.”

Rhys calmly sighed, easing into the comfort of Axton’s warmth.

“I can’t stay…”

“I know,” Ax hummed, pressing soft kisses against the skin of his neck. “But a guy can dream.”

Rhys gazed skyward, shivering under the looming ‘H’ that hung over them. It was so peculiarly menacing from a distance, this space station that he called home. And despite how much he despised Pandora and its axe wielding residents with a penchant for making skin puppets, it was almost terrifying to consider _leaving_. Like his feet would lift off the ground and never touch down again.

“I hate simulated gravity,” he groaned. “You never get used to it, really. Have you ever ridden an elevator in space? It’s the worst.”

“That thing that it does to your stomach.” Axton shuddered. “Like…flip flops.”

“You’re a dork.”

“Don’t be a hypocrite.”

Rhys smirked, pivoting in the Commando’s arms. Axton reset his hands on his lower back, looping him into a hug as Rhys stared into his eyes.

“I wish I met you sooner.”

“That’s lovely, sweetheart, but how in the hell would that have happened?”

“Why didn’t you come to work for Hyperion?” Rhys grumbled. “Instead of going to Pandora?”

“Why do you think I was _on_ Pandora, Rhys?” Axton rolled his eyes. “Jack was the one that invited the Vault Hunters there.”

“Oh…I didn’t know that.” Rhys frowned. “Or…I guess I must have. And just forgot?”

“There’s a lot you don’t know, hon,” Axton shrugged. “And I’m afraid it might get you killed.”

“Or you.”

“Well, you don’t gotta worry about that now.”

Rhys’ expression twisted with grief. He leaned forward to his face into Axton’s chest. The Commando held him tight, humming into his hair.

“…it’s almost time, Rhys.”

“I know,” he sighed. “But I…”

Drawing back, Rhys lifted a hand into the air, brows pinched together.

“Ew, Ax. You’re getting blood all over me.”

“No, Rhys,” Axton frowned, tilting his head. “That’s you.”

Rhys gazed down to the seeping wound in his shoulder.

“Oh…so it is.”

“Hey.”

Axton’s hand skimmed along his jawline, tilting his head upward. Rhys met his eyes, and his knees quivered.

“Remember what I said, okay? If you need to get away, you come find me.”

“Yeah…” Rhys nodded. “Okay. I will.”

Axton lifted his hand, and readied his finger gun. He stepped back from Rhys, pressing his finger tip to his ribs.

“Wait,” Rhys froze. “Ax, no. Hold on. I can’t—”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Axton hummed. “I’ll see you later.”

The solitary, deafening crack of the gunshot had Rhys waking with a start. He shot forward in bed, nearly losing his balance, drenched in an uncomfortable, cold sweat; an ugly shudder worked its way through his body to rip loose a choking sound from his lips. He lifted his hand, staring at it in the darkness in silent disbelief to find that it was clean. The blood had been washed away, leaving nothing but a hollow feeling of remorse.

He sank back against the pillow, pressing his hand to his face. The heaviness of the past week was at last crashing down upon him, bringing with it the reminder that he was to blame for _everything._ Isaac had done a fine job of setting him up, but Rhys had been capable enough to handle the rest.

 _It’s all my fault_.

Rhys remained still, allowing the turmoil to roll through his skull, trying to ignore the discomfort across his skin. But as a raw itch sparked and worried its way along his flesh, he made to lift his cybernetic arm to scratch it for relief, but found his prosthetic would not respond. And suddenly, his equilibrium issues made sense, a familiar feeling he only got when he removed the arm before bed, and it was then that he recalled Jack’s hands — and the blood — before again opening his eyes to blink dazedly around the room.

The purple wash of light from Elpis blanketed the space around him. He was right where he belonged — in Handsome Jack’s bed, and asleep at his side was the man himself. Jack yet wore his clothes, but he laid in line with Rhys, face pressed into a pillow. His heavy fatigue was evident in his entire frame; even in his sleep, his brow was furrowed with concern. His hair hung in messy strands over his face, and his mouth was turned downward in a worried frown.

Rhys felt a sharp throbbing of his heart as he watched Jack sleep. He wanted to reach forward, tempted to run his fingers through his hair and fix the unkempt locks. But instead, he slowly turned in place, setting his feet against the floor.

He managed to make it to the bathroom in relative silence, leaving Jack to rest. The dim lights came on as he crossed the heated tiles, revealing his reflection in the mirror across. His appearance was _startling,_ to say the least. Despite it only having been a week, he somehow looked scrawnier than usual, but he supposed it probably had to do with the myriad of bruises all around his body. They ran along his wrists, his chest, down his thighs. There were faded hints of blood stains, but Jack had done a fairly decent job at having him cleaned up.

Rhys ran a finger over his collarbone, around the spot where the bullet had supposedly punched straight through. He remembered the shifting, the _click,_ and marvelled at how well the insta-health had worked. Nothing remained but a series of dark bruises. No scarring was left behind.

Regardless, he still looked and felt like shit. Rhys leaned his palm against the counter, head hung as he considered his face. The glow of his ECHOeye was unsatisfactory, subdued, and he sighed at the sight.

“So,” he croaked, voice raspy from disuse. “What do we do now?”

His reflection shrugged. Relenting, he stood up, and his eyes fell to the shower stall at his back.

“…that’s a good start.”

Standing beneath the hot, _wonderful_ stream of water, Rhys’ movements were half-hearted. For the time being, his mind was quiet. Nothing gnawed at him, begging for attention, demanding action, and for the first time in ages he simply _was._ It almost felt peaceful, but for the simple fact that it was only the calm before the storm. He straddled the line between blissful, perfect happiness, and a terrible, clawing angst. The balance between the two was terrifying, because something had to give. And when the scale finally tipped, in what direction would that be?

When he finished his shower, silently emerging back into the bedroom while attempting to dry his hair one-handed, Jack was still asleep. He had turned onto his back, and was snoring quietly into the crook of his elbow where his arm was draped over his face. The sight gave Rhys pause; he hesitated at the centre of the room. Seeing Jack this way — so vulnerable and relaxed — was almost disarming, and Rhys couldn’t help but smile at the bizarrely domestic sight.

Out of the corner of his eye, Rhys noticed the familiar yellow of his prosthetic. It rested atop a pile of clothing on the dresser, looking polished and oiled. He was careful to reattach it, wincing at the final _click_ as connections slid into place, and shivered at the cool sensation thrumming into his skull. Then he dropped his hands to the clothes.

Sifting through the pile, he realized at once that they all belonged to him, presumably having been collected from his apartment at Jack’s request. He dressed slowly, careful not to test the remnant pull of muscle pain as he moved, but when he at last reached for his button up, he lifted it into the air and went deathly still.

Something heavy and thick hung in his chest. Rhys felt as if he lost his footing, mind adrift as he ran his thumb along the shoulder of the shirt, stopping to worry at the metal disc that had been sewn into the material. With a painful swallow, he turned back to hazard a look at the sleeping man on the bed. He forced a deep, calming breath before he crossed the room and sank into the soft covers.

“Jack.”

A few moments passed before Jack responded. The older man groaned, turned, and blinked heavily as he worked to remember where he was. Then his eyes snapped open, and he abruptly sat up on the bed.

“Rhysie.” His voice was frayed. _“Kitten.”_

And all at once, Jack was _there,_ filling all of Rhys’ senses. A hand appeared on his hip, tugging him close, and the other was on his face, cradling his head in support against the insistent lips that pried at his mouth. Jack peppered him with kisses, breathing heavily through his nostrils as he assailed Rhys with affection.

And Rhys let him, all the while silently gripping his shirt between them.

“Rhys,” Jack groaned. “Look at you. You’re here. _Finally.”_

“I’m here,” Rhys parroted, startled by how quiet his voice sounded.

“Are you okay?” Jack drew back, just enough to scan every inch of him. “Talk to me, baby. How are you feeling?”

“I’m…”

Rhys shivered. Jack’s expression tightened with worry.

“Rhys?” Jack dropped his head to look at the shirt in his hands. “What’s that?”

“My shirt.”

“Oh. Yeah. I grabbed it from your place. What’s wrong?”

 _“You_ went there?”

“Your little buddy wasn’t answering so I kind of _had_ to.”

Rhys felt a pulse of shame, but suffocated it. Now wasn’t the time. Not with the other intense emotions that were working their way to the surface.

“Where did you find it?”

Jack’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“The shirt,” Rhys insisted, raising it between them. “Where did you get the shirt?”

“Uh…the back of your closet, I think? Rhysie, what’s—”

“This shirt,” Rhys buried his face in the material, definitely not to hide the red in his cheeks. “It’s specifically tailored. For my arm.”

“I _know_ that, dumb-dumb,” Jack grunted. “So what?”

“It’s one of the few I have. How did you find it?”

“I went looking for it,” he admitted. “Knew you must have had another somewhere. Rhys, what the hell? What’s—”

Rhys’ fingers curled through the hair at the back of Jack’s head. Jack swallowed his surprise, quickly leaning in to return the passionate, wanton kiss Rhys had forced upon him. Hands appeared at Jack’s collar, and the older man understood in an instant, dropping his arms to tear off his jacket. He snapped apart the clasps on his vest with ease, shedding both it and the shirt underneath.

Rhys’ hands had already found their way under that god awful sweater. They fumbled across his dense, heated muscles in a desperate bid to cover as much ground as he could reach. Jack returned the favour, cradling his neck in his thick fingers as he took control, and the kiss almost turned painful with their combined need.

_“Jack…”_

Rhys whined into Jack’s mouth as they leaned into one another. Jack was firm, almost forceful as he pulled him impossibly close and bit his lower lip raw. Rhys’ fingers had somehow returned to Jack’s hair, and they rocked together as one. Jack pressed his hips against him, adding to the already intense friction that was growing between their bodies. It was delightful and everything and _fucking perfection._

Rhys was momentarily taken aback as Jack’s warmth drew away; his eyes fluttered open to see Jack carefully scrutinizing his face.

“What have you done to me, kiddo?” Jack murmured, hovering an inch away. The question was thick with awe, and had the resulting effect of releasing a rush of serotonin in Rhys’ skull. “I got _so goddamn angry_ when I saw you with Lilith. I was ready to raze all of Pandora.”

Rhys pressed his forehead against Jack’s. He exhaled happily, sinking into Jack’s embrace. _This is all I wanted._ The older man carded fingers through his hair in response, a chuckle rumbling deep in his chest.

“I would’ve done _anything_ to get you back.”

Something clicked. Rhys paused. His breathing faltered, his blood chilled, and he slowly, carefully gazed into Jack’s eyes.

“Jack… did you shoot Axton?”

Jack’s touch disappeared. He sat back on his haunches. His expression was subdued, but Rhys recognized something dark in those mismatched eyes. Going still, Rhys gave him a pointed, suspicious look, at which Jack eased further back.

“…I _had_ to, kiddo.”

Rhys recoiled as if struck. Panic gripped his chest as he staved off a suddenly all consuming hyperventilation. The tightness in his lungs was almost _suffocating_ as he realized it was all true — Jack had shot Axton, and it was all _Rhys’_ fault.

“He was a _bandit_ , Rhysie,” Jack’s voice was insistent and low. He seemed alarmed by Rhys’ reaction, but did not reach out to comfort him. “A Vault Hunter. He helped kill Angel. And he _touched_ you.”

Rhys didn’t respond. He couldn’t. Tears streaked down his cheeks and he turned to hide them, when Jack’s hand appeared on his wrist, painfully tight, forcing him to meet his gaze. “They _kidnapped_ you, Rhys. They held you prisoner.”

“You shot Axton,” Rhys hissed, avoiding Jack’s glare. “You killed him!”

“And he killed _me_ ,” Jack snarled. “Tit for tat.”

Rhys’ eyes snapped wide. “He…he _what?”_

It was the truth Rhys had been ignoring all along. And finally — there it was in the open, where he couldn’t help but face it. All the conflicting emotions surged within Rhys, and he nearly vomited from the rampant chaos curling in his gut.

“He got what he deserved,” Jack continued. “Better than what he deserved. He was a murderer, Rhys. They’re _all_ murderers.”

“So what does that make _you!?"_ Rhys shouted. His cybernetic arm wrenched free from Jack’s grip.

Jack stumbled in surprise, almost falling off the bed. He righted himself, climbing to his feet, and stared wildly down at Rhys. A thunderous silence descended on the pair as they exchanged hostile, accusatory looks; Jack’s chest rapidly rose and fell, and his right hand twitched oddly, as if seeking the comfort of a gun grip.

“Be careful, Rhysie. I sacrificed a lot to get you back. Don’t make me regret it.”

“I didn’t ask for that,” Rhys growled. “I didn’t want you to _kill_ for me.”

“You don’t understand,” Jack interrupted with a snarl. “This was a case of me shooting _first_ , kitten. They never would have let you leave. Lilith was going to kill you, Rhys. That bitch wants to destroy everything I have!”

The raw pitch of Jack’s voice left Rhys unsettled to a point he’d never experienced before. He shrank back onto his elbows, awash with fear.

“I don’t—”

“ _Everything!”_ Jack shouted, reaching a new level of mania.

Time stopped as Jack’s fingers slipped to his mask, releasing the clasps with alarming ease. Rhys froze, chest tight with horror, and Jack ripped the synthetic material off of his face to reveal the long, jagged scar that etched a blue and black path across his skin. Rhys’ eyes found it, held it, and his mind went blank with shock.

“She took my face,” Jack snarled. “She took my baby girl. She took my _life_. And she was going to take you, too.”

Rhys couldn’t speak. He traced the scar with his gaze, following the vault mark across Jack’s flesh. His shoulders sagged. He felt his fingers twitch and he almost reached out. Almost.

“And I’m not letting that happen, Rhys. I’m _never_ letting that happen,” Jack hissed. He fell to a knee in front of Rhys. “I _can’t_ let that happen.”

“Jack…” It was all Rhys managed to say. He wavered, staring blindly at Jack. At his inaction, the older man sighed angrily, lifting his mask to slot it back into place, but Rhys reached up and snagged his hand. Jack stiffened, eyes glinting with an immediate hostility.

Rhys slowly edged his way toward the end of the bed. His movements were methodical as he raised his hand, gently placing it along the unmarred flesh of Jack’s chin. Moving his fingers up along his jaw, he was careful to palm the skin where the scar began, and Jack visibly winced but did not pull away. Rhys exhaled sharply, apologetically.

“Does it—”

“Always,” Jack replied, but there was no heat left in his voice.

His anger seemed to ebb as Rhys thumbed up over the indentation on his cheek. The mark was ugly and deep and _hateful,_ and at last Rhys understood Jack’s desperation to keep it hidden. The flesh curled where the scar sliced through his face; despite the age of the frayed tissue, it still somehow looked painful. The inverted “v” carved its way up over his nose and through his left eye, leaving it milky and half-lidded, nerves irrevocably damaged.

Rhys had remained silent as his eyes roved over the scar in wonder, and Jack at last shivered into his palm.

“Kitten—”

Finally, Rhys pressed his lips to Jack’s. He slipped his arm around his neck, pulling him as he leaned back, and Jack followed in surprise. Rhys inhaled sharply through his nose and smelled Jack — _the real_ _Jack —_ and his hands scrambled to grip his sweater. Jack moaned into him, pressing him back into the bedspread; the mask was lost as Jack straddled Rhys, pinning him down to let their hands explore and grab and stroke and hold.

Rhys’ mind swirled as Jack’s tongue was in his mouth and Jack’s hands were on his face and Jack’s hips were against his. All the pain and confusion and regret were replaced by the very heady, overwhelming sensation of _need, want, keep,_ and his fingers grabbed onto Jack wherever they could and refused to let go.

And it all felt so good, so right, so perfect, and so wrong — as Jack moved against Rhys and Rhys pressed against Jack and Axton’s blood was on his hands and Axton’s death was on his shoulders.

* * *

Jack had quickly lost track of time. Not that it mattered, anyway. Everything he needed was right there in his arms.

He and Rhys had lapsed into a bizarrely intimate display, leaving their clothing scattered across the floor and bed where they simply held one another. Despite the heat in his groin, the gnawing need to pin Rhys down and take him like he so desperately wanted, Jack settled instead for the warm, satisfying feeling of his lips. Rhys’ fingers moved across his arms, his shoulders, his back, as if mapping him. Then they returned to his face, and that ugly, wretched scar.

But Jack let him, despite the pulse of unease at the gesture. His hatred for the mark was all profound, but under Rhys’ touch, it almost sparked with warmth. And after some time of mutual groping, the two fell still, content just to have the lines of their bodies pressed together.

Finally.

It wasn’t long before Rhys again went slack. Jack happily drifted, lazily alternating between kissing the shell of his ear and sucking at the supple flesh of his neck. But eventually, Rhys’ breath evened out as he succumbed to the unrelenting fatigue brought on by his little misadventure and having to heal from a near fatal wound. So Jack laid back, making sure to possessively drape an arm around Rhys’ abdomen.

_Mine._

At some time in the night, he had found his mask and secured it back into place before returning to Rhys to slot his face into the crook of his neck. The younger man sank in and out of sleep, strangely restless, but Jack always knew when he was awake, as he would always resume gently stroking at the tattoo on Jack’s wrist.

“Damn it,” Rhys slurred, brows pinching together.

“What?”

“I just can’t believe how much I missed you, you turd bucket.”

Jack snorted a laugh. “Shut up and sleep, Rhysie.”

“…why didn’t you come sooner?”

Anger flitted through Jack; he quickly silenced it.

“It’s a long story, babe. And a shit excuse.”

Jack had to move back as Rhys twisted on the bed to look at him. His expression hardened with resolve.

“I think I need to hear it, Jack.” Rhys' throat visibly bobbed. “Please.”

Forcing a seething, exhausted exhale, Jack pushed onto his elbow. He rested a hand along Rhys’ jaw, scanning his tired face, doing what he could to collect the scattered explanation for his recent failures.

“When we first returned to Helios, my priority was getting back into power,” he started. “As the real Handsome Jack, not just a face on a screen. And it took months. We hadn’t really tried shoving an AI into a fully organic form before. I had this exoskeleton project planned, but, uh...things changed.”

Rhys silently nodded, not really understanding.

“I took that time to back up a copy of myself. We kept all of the research and scans on a private server. By the time I finally made it back to you, I was basically immortal.”

Rhys’ eyes edged wide.

“Until Andrews destroyed it all.”

“Wait, what?”

Jack remained still as Rhys sat up.

“So — wait. He deleted all your code?”

“Everything,” Jack nodded. “All of the research, the regeneration data, my AI copy. I have the propeller heads downstairs working at restoring it, but... It’ll be a while.”

“So you’re…” Rhys frowned. “You could have died. For real.”

Jack pushed himself up, maneuvering onto his knees. Rhys flinched at the touch of Jack’s hands cradling his face, but then he leaned into him. Jack pressed his lips to the skin above his neural port once before dragging him close.

“I was _afraid_ , Rhysie,” he admitted in a whisper. “Because they’re wrong about what they say. There’s _nothing there._ It’s just darkness. And I couldn’t go back.”

Rhys shivered in his hands.

“But when I realized what I was about to lose…I couldn’t stand back anymore. Because that’s not what a hero does,” he hummed. “It took a while to figure that out. And…I’m sorry for how long it took for me to realize just how much I needed you.”

He felt Rhys stiffen. His eyes widened, as if seeing Jack for the first time. Then he leaned forward, and pressed his lips to Jack’s cheek.

“You…” Rhys’ grip on him tightened. “Are an idiot.”

Jack chuckled. “I know, Rhysie.”

“I wanted to hate you,” he muttered. “And I did. Or do. I’m not sure. But I…”

“I know,” Jack repeated, carding fingers through Rhys’ hair. “And I’ll make it up to you. Somehow.”

Rhys pressed his face into Jack’s shoulder.

“I’m tired,” he moaned. “But I really want to fuck you. Like, a _stupid_ amount.”

Jack chuckled. He resisted a very tempting “ _well, why wouldn’t you?”_ and instead turned the younger man. “Go to sleep, Rhysie.”

Rhys allowed him to roll his body over. He immediately curled back into the warmth of the bed, sinking into the absurdly high thread-count sheets. Jack petted him contentedly, watching him drift away.

“Jack… _wait_ ,” Rhys paused, lifting his head in a daze to stare at his face. “Why do you…I mean, if your body is new, why…your scar?”

Jack winced.

“…I considered it. To reshape myself as I was, years ago. But…”

He gazed out the window, eyes hanging on the outline of Elpis. “That’s not who I am anymore.”

A hand fell on his where it rested on the bed. Jack turned, gazing softly into Rhys’ face as he shuffled into his space. Then he laid down beside him, tucking his hips against his ass, and his fingers fell into place in the tight grip of Rhys’ hand.

“So who are you?” Rhys murmured sleepily, letting Jack nuzzle his neck.

Truth be told, Jack didn’t have an immediate answer to that. He was Handsome Jack — Hyperion overlord and general badass, all that was power and control. He was rage and fire and domination, and he was the _king_ , baby. But with Rhys pressed into his side, he was calm and content and…

Jack again pressed a kiss against Rhys’ temple, brushing the neural port, and closed his eyes.

“I’m all yours, kitten.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Rhys is so messed up he falls apart over a shirt.
> 
> Also, fun fact: Axton was actually already on Pandora when he heard Hyperion's call for vault hunters.  
> But Rhys wouldn't know that.


	26. The Devil on his Shoulder

“Hold on a tick, kitten. There’s something we need to do first.”

Rhys stumbled to a halt, turning to gaze at Jack with a look of irritation. “Can it wait, Jack? I am _starving_. I could kill a burger. Or ten.”

_“Soon,_ Rhysie,” Jack moved to his side, nuzzling into the younger man’s cheek. “C’mon. It’ll be quick.”

Rhys relented with a sigh, allowing Jack to interlock their fingers to lead him through the network of hallways. He’d awoken in a peculiar daze, surprised to see that — yes, Jack was still there, and he was very much real. It swept him back in time, to that early morning when his arm had awoken them, and Jack had fiercely insisted on being the big spoon.

But this time, there weren’t any messages awaiting him.

He sighed against the hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach, focused instead on the fingers holding his as Jack directed him through Helios. Rhys was still dealing with the aftermath of his injury, feeling a swirling mix of euphoria and general dizziness as the remaining hypo effects worked their magic. There were plenty of emotions and stressful thoughts drifting in the back of his mind that he’d yet to deal with, but there’d be time for that later.

For now, he just wanted to be with Jack. As long as a thing like that could last.

It didn’t take long for them to arrive where Jack had been leading him, but as his eyes drifted upward to the door of the airlock, he was gripped with a frantic, cold sensation. He sagged, faltering back a step, and Jack looked at him in confusion.

“Kitten? You okay?”

Rhys swallowed. “Uh. Yeah. Sorry. What are we…”

He gestured to the door. Jack followed his gaze, before his expression twisted into something _dark_. He turned, moving into Rhys’ arms, and while Rhys allowed him to, he couldn’t help the feeling of unease that gripped his chest. As the older man stroked his face, watching him with sharpened eyebrows and a tight smirk, Rhys realized that Jack was gone, and Handsome Jack had taken his place.

“I have something for you, baby,” he purred. As Jack leaned forward, Rhys craned his head against the wet heat of his tongue moving across the tattooed flesh of his neck. “Been waiting for this moment for _ages.”_

“O-oh?” Rhys replied, hating himself with the words came out in a whimper. “What’s that?”

Jack did not reply. He bodily spun Rhys, walking him into the wall to pin him in place as he sucked dark marks into his neck. Rhys groaned at the conflicting ripple of delight in his thighs, wanting to cant his hips and give Jack everything he wanted. But instead, he just held on for dear life, waiting him out. By the time Jack drew away, his expression was heavy with desire, and Rhys’ neck was once again painted with his dark, possessive marks.

“You ready?”

“For _what_ , Jack?” he quivered.

Jack released him. He moved to the console near the airlock, punching in a code. As the door mechanism _whirred_ and jumped to life, Jack unholstered the gun at his hip, then reached out with his free hand toward Rhys. Against his better judgement, Rhys took his hand, gazing forward to watch the door slide open.

Rhys sank back. His heart stopped.

“Jack…what…”

“Well, kitten?” he smirked. “You like your present?”

* * *

  
  
Andrews was right where he’d left him, strapped to a chair with his back against the opposite door. He was conscious, but barely, struggling to lift his head to look their way. Really, he was in remarkable condition, considering what he’d done, what he’d tried to take from them. So while he was down a few fingers, and probably a few toes, a chunk of ear, and had to have a few hypos forced on him to prevent an early departure, he was in pretty good shape.

Because this had never belonged to Jack. This belonged to Rhys.

Jack smirked against the pulse of righteousness, the swell of all-consuming victory, as he turned to beam at his love. But the younger man wasn’t smiling. He was staring at Andrews with a look that dwelled somewhere in the place between loathing and abject horror.

“…Jack?” he uttered, voice breaking. “What is happening right now?”

“I kept him for you, Rhysie.” Jack moved close, resting his hand on Rhys’ hip as he pressed his chest to his back. “Figured you’d want to do the honours yourself.”

Andrews’ eyes widened, as it appeared he finally recognized who it was that stood across from him. He mustered a pretty surprising amount of strength, enough to fight against the restraints with a renewed fervour, but it was all pointless. He would never be leaving that airlock. At least, not in the direction he intended. He cried gibberish through the gag in his mouth, grunting incoherently toward Rhys as the younger man moved forward into the airlock bay. Jack took a step back, leaving him space to enjoy his moment.

“I…” Rhys stopped short of Andrews, gazing over his slumped form. The man in the chair stared at him, imploringly, as Rhys did little more than stand over him.

Confused by Rhys’ inaction, Jack folded his arms across his chest, tilting his head.

“…what am I supposed to do, Jack?”

Rhys turned very slowly, gazing at Jack with a look could only be described as _haunting._ Jack went still, a frown tight across his face.

“…kiddo…don’t you want to _hurt_ him?” he asked carefully. “This asshole tried to kill you. Look at what he tried to take away from you. This is your chance. You can do anything you want to him.”

Andrews groaned, tipping his head back. Rhys looked at him, seeming to study his condition, but did nothing else. Jack bristled, then moved forward, reassuming his place against Rhys’ back.

“You can do whatever you want,” he repeated, while slowly lifting the pistol at his side. He maneuvered it into Rhys’ hands, touch slipping along his arms to help him aim it in Andrews’ direction. “You can take it slow, make him suffer… or you can back outta here, press that button, and end it quickly. Either way, kitten — his fate is yours to decide.”

Rhys still wasn’t responding. He accepted that Jack was passing him the gun, even cradled it as Jack held his arms forward, but there was no passion, no desire. In fact, everything about the way he leaned away from Andrews screamed _yield, run, escape._ Jack frowned, letting his hands drop away, and Rhys lowered the gun without the support of his touch.

“Jack…” he breathed. “…I can’t.”

“What?” Jack hissed. “Kiddo… he _deserves_ this.”

“I know…”

“He _assaulted_ you. Put his hands on you.”

“I _know.”_ Rhys’ voice tightened with annoyance, but Jack persisted.

“He tried to _kill_ you, Rhys.”

“I know, Jack, I _know!”_

Rhys pivoted, shoving the pistol against Jack’s chest. He snarled in response, eyes snapping up to meet Rhys’ hostile stare.

“I can’t _do_ this, Jack,” he said again, voice heavy with insistence. “You’re right. Isaac deserves everything that is coming to him. And I know he’ll get it. But I’m sorry, Jack — I can’t be the one to pull that trigger. I can’t be the one that presses that button.”

Jack blinked. “…why _not,_ kitten? After everything he’s done to you…”

“I…” Rhys scanned the floor, struggling for a response, before he closed his eyes. “I can’t offer anything to you that would make sense, Jack. And if it makes me weak, or stupid, then so be it. I’m not cut out for this. Just _please._ Don’t make me do it.”

Jack stiffened as Rhys lifted his head to meet his gaze. They warily watched one another, leaving Jack feeling a flash of hostility at the sudden distance between them. He relented with a sigh, gesturing toward the door.

“I hear you, Rhysie. Step outside of the airlock, okay?”

Rhys wordlessly nodded and obeyed. Jack gave him time to step beyond the threshold, before turning to face Andrews. The man stared back, silent as his attention latched onto the gun loosely held in Jack’s hand.

“I want you to know how lucky you are, Andrews,” he seethed. “I want you to look at Rhys, and remember what it felt like to hold him in your arms. This man that once graced you with his affection and love, and now refuses to _kill_ you, despite the back-stabbing, shit-eating, skag-sucking piece of scum you turned out to be.”

Andrews fell still. He gazed across at Rhys, seeming to buckle under Jack’s words.

“Rhysie here faced down the Crimson Raiders, Vault Hunters, Maliwan, and the Firehawk herself. He took a round through his chest. And here he is, despite all of your efforts, still standing.”

Jack made the point of stepping between the two, dropping down to Andrews’ height.

“I want your last moments to be spent regretting that you tried to take from Handsome Jack, and you _failed.”_

His reaction was surprising. Jack had half expected him to lunge forward in his restraints, to make one last final attempt at freedom. But instead, he took a long, heavy look at Rhys, before lifting his head to Jack. The words muttered through his gag came out as nonsense; Jack rolled his eyes before using the muzzle of his pistol to pull it free.

“What?”

“I said that I was _sorry,”_ he coughed, a very visible wince presumably against a few broken ribs. “To Rhys.”

Jack sank onto his haunches. He gazed over his shoulder to see Rhys staring blankly toward Andrews. A moment of silence passed before Jack turned his head in a sneer.

“Is that it?”

Andrews blinked at him. “Hardly.”

An ardent rage worked its way through Jack’s core, and he somehow managed to stifle it.

“These are your last words,” he hissed. “I would choose them wisely.”

Andrews returned his attention to Rhys. He seemed to consider him, watching as Rhys quietly lingered outside of the airlock, eyes downcast to the floor. A faint smile flickered its way across his face, before he gave a curt nod.

“So I guess I won.”

Jack’s brows snapped into their tight, angular curves. He straightened, running his finger along the trigger of his pistol. “You sure about that, cupcake? Because as far as I can tell, I’m still standing.”

“I didn’t say I wanted you to _die,_ Jack,” Andrews shook his head. “I said I wanted you to _lose.”_

Something very cold, very _human_ worked its way through Jack. He shivered against it, tight with indignation as he stared Andrews down. He considered putting a bullet hole through his foot. Tearing off another finger. Cutting off that taunting, ugly mouth. Shoving his pistol in past his bloodied teeth.

Instead, he turned on his heel, and moved toward Rhys.

“Come here, kitten,” he ordered, reaching for the other man. Rhys flinched at the instruction, but lowered his hands as he stepped into Jack’s arms. He obediently tilted his head at Jack’s insistent touch.

His tongue was soft, warm, _pliant_. Rhys quietly moaned into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut at the touch of Jack’s fingers along his jawline. His knees buckled slightly; he folded into Jack’s chest where he fit perfectly in the cradle of his broad shoulders. And as Jack’s hand moved around to his back, flitting down the curve of his spine, Rhys shivered with delight.

Then Jack was drawing away, giving Andrews a tight, superior glance.

And he simply stared back, still smiling.

The fury that had been churning within Jack had reached its zenith. He marched toward the control panel, dragging Rhys along in his arms. The younger man stuttered his surprise, and upon realizing Jack’s intent, turned around in his grasp. He reached his arms around his shoulders, burying his face into his neck.

“I’ve got you, kitten,” Jack informed him, all the while maintaining eye-contact with Andrews. “No one will ever hurt you again.”

Andrews’ eyes edged wide by the slightest degree. Then he sank back into his chair, resigned to his fate.

Jack activated the doors. His hand moved to the release mechanism. There was a soft _whoosh_ of air, and then nothing. He felt Rhys tense up in his arms, and his shoulders shook a few times, but ultimately, he leaned against Jack, falling still.

It was over. And it was all so _unsatisfying._

They stood there in silence for a long time. The anger began to fade, leaving Jack to card through Rhys’ hair, affectionately humming at his ear as he caressed him. He could not deny the remnant frustration coursing through his veins, but it all seemed to go quiet when Rhys was in his arms.

“I want to go home,” Rhys said at last, mumbling into Jack’s shoulder.

“Sure, baby,” Jack nodded, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I’ll order some takeout. Then we’ll—”

“No.” Rhys drew away from him, gaze remaining evasive. “I think I just want to go to my place…if that’s okay.”

Jack faltered. “Alright. Let’s—”

“By myself.”

Pulling away as if struck, Jack stared squarely at Rhys. The younger man still avoided him, eyebrows knit together as he looked away. Jack was tempted to reach up and grasp his chin, force him to make eye-contact, but he restrained himself. He released Rhys’ hips, taking a painful step away.

“…if that’s what you need, Rhysie.”

“I’ll see you later, Jack.”

Jack remained still as Rhys moved away from him. Even after he’d gone, and that small section of hallway had gone silent, Jack stood rooted to the spot. His eyes remained on the closed door of the airlock, as his forehead twitched and something gripped his chest. 

This was supposed to be their moment. A bloody, vicious, _wonderful_ shot at retribution they would both enjoy. He meant for it to be long, satisfying, and hopefully end with Rhys showering Jack in his everlasting gratitude. Instead, Isaac’s death was...simple. _Boring._ And now...

Where he had expected angry, righteous loathing — bitter outrage — he quickly found it was far worse than that.

Handsome Jack felt _alone_.

* * *

  
  
It was eerily quiet. Not even the normal ambient hum of the refrigerator reached his ears as he dwelled in the darkness of his apartment. Rhys stood in the open doorway of Vaughn’s bedroom, allowing his eyes to rest on the floor. The room was immaculate as usual — _everything has a place, Rhys! —_ but noticeably empty. The bed was made. Vaughn’s glasses were absent from the bedside table. He was just… _gone_. Even their shared ECHO channel was a graveyard.

Vaughn had been right all along. And the painful part of that admission was that Rhys had always known. But he was too stupid, too _obsessed_ to listen him. Vaughn had been his conscience, the little angel on his shoulder, grabbing onto his ear and yelling at him to _stop, you moron!_ But the devil had been there too, and the temptation to give in and _obey_ had just been too great.

It was a mistake, loving Jack. A wonderful, heady, delicious mistake. But it served the purpose of opening Rhys’ eyes to himself. After weeks of feeling weak, Rhys very suddenly and surprisingly wanted nothing more than to stand on his own two feet. To be proud of his own accomplishments and not have to rely on anyone else to direct his path. He’d felt flickers of it, months ago, when he’d started work on the turret. And if the gnarled, twisted wreckage of the Maliwan ships left spread across the Dust were anything to go by, it was a great success.

And it was really only the beginning. Rhys was starting to remember his old self — the aspiring programmer who’d arrived at Helios with _ambition._ Before he let his heart get in the way.

But before he could pour his efforts into the future, there was something he had to do. And it left him feeling sick.

Rhys wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing in Vaughn’s room. He had tried and failed to recreate the feeling from the previous night in the shower. The silence. The calm. But he couldn’t ignore the swell of unease inside of him. Not after Isaac. Not after Jack.

When a soft knock came at the front door, echoing into the empty space, Rhys still didn’t move. He activated his ECHOeye, and the door opened following a quiet _bzzt_ , prompting the quiet approach of cautious footsteps through the apartment.

“Hey there, kiddo.”

Rhys cringed. _I hate that nickname._

“Hi, Tim.”

“I got your message…is everything okay? How are you feeling?”

He at last pushed away from the wall, turning to gaze at the Handsome Jack body double. Timothy looked run down, and Rhys found himself wondering how the bags under his eyes could possibly show _through_ the mask. It really was an impressive piece of synthetic material.

Did his also hide away a jagged, ugly scar? And did Jack put it there?

“Yeah,” he straightened. “I mean, I’m good. I guess. All things considered.”

Tim nodded his understanding. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“Thanks.”

Rhys’ gazed dropped to Tim’s hip, where the Reaper pistol was still holstered. He stared at the gun for a moment before exhaling sharply.

“I really thought you were him,” he muttered. “Down there. You were so convincing.”

Tim visibly winced. “It’s my job.”

“No, I mean — when I got the stun baton, I thought for sure you were out on the field with me.”

“Actually, that _was_ my idea. I just wasn’t the one to hand it to, uh…”

Timothy went silent right when Rhys needed him to. He moved to join Rhys in the hallway, casting a blank glance into Vaughn’s room.

“I was worried about you.”

“I was _fine,”_ Rhys waved his hand. “It was weird. I found some surprising allies down there.”

“Tell me about it,” Timothy tilted his head. “Zero took a weird liking to you, huh?”

“What?” Rhys’ eyebrows went up. “Did you see him?”

“It took a bit to convince him to put his sword away, but once I dropped your name, he backed right down.”

“Huh…” _Interesting._

“I’m not sure what would have happened otherwise,” Timothy shrugged. “Lilith might’ve…”

Rhys blanched. “Tim…did you _shoot_ me?”

“Zero did. Well — he shot _Lilith,”_ Tim rubbed the back of his neck. “It just…happened to hit you, too. But his aim was amazing. He managed to disable the Firehawk _and_ give us enough time to get down to you with the Insta-health.”

“Ah.” Rhys considered, then chuckled. “Well. That…huh.”

Timothy smiled weakly. “Glad to see my training paid off. You’re a tough little nerd.”

“You should have been there when Maliwan first decided to show up,” Rhys shifted with the swell of pride, unable to help the cocky smirk that appeared on his face. “I took down two of ‘em for sure. Wounded a third.”

“The Flash trooper,” Timothy stated bluntly. Rhys rocked back.

“No shit,” he hummed. “You saw him, too?”

“Yeah, you definitely left your mark on him,” Tim laughed. “Pretty sure you’re on Maliwan’s shit list now, so you watch your neck.”

Rhys shivered involuntarily. He suddenly remembered the Flash trooper climbing on top of him, putting hands on his hips.

“Please tell me you killed that asshole.”

“Zero came close, but he got away.” Suspicion flashed in Timothy’s eyes, but he didn’t press. 

“It was pretty chaotic out there...again, thanks to Jack…”

“...I need to apologize, Rhys. For not finding you sooner.”

Swallowing against the bile in his throat, Rhys briefly looked away.

“Jack couldn’t even find me, Tim. It’s hardly your fault.”

“It _was_ though. I had two separate chances to find you and failed,” he sagged. “I feel like if I had any courage, things would have ended a little differently.”

Rhys shook his head. “Tim, courage isn’t a _lack_ of fear. You wouldn’t _need_ courage if it wasn’t natural to be wary of the dangers in life. Especially given the shit Jack puts _you_ through. And hell, if _you_ don't have courage, I don’t even want to _know_ what that says about me...”

Timothy turned bodily to hold his gaze, eyebrows peaking on his forehead. His hands twitched at his side.

“What happened with Maliwan, by the way?” Rhys hummed, changing the subject.

“They’ve retreated. Last I heard from Blake, they had attempted to set up a meeting with Jack, and he responded by moonshotting one of their dreadnoughts.”

“No shit,” Rhys blinked. “Was it _glorious?”_

Timothy burst into laughter. He lifted an arm to rest a hand on Rhys’ shoulder.

“Ah, kiddo. I’m gonna miss you.”

Rhys immediately reached up, latching on to Timothy’s hand with a tight grip. “What? What the hell do you mean by that?”

Tim’s expression flickered. He dropped his head, averting his gaze.

_“Timothy.”_

“I’m going back to the Jackpot,” he sighed. “Resuming my old post.”

“But you hated it there,” Rhys protested. “Why are…”

He released Tim’s hand, enough to sink back against the wall.

“Jack’s sending you,” he uttered. “That _prick.”_

“Rhys, let it go.”

“I can’t,” he snapped. _“He_ can’t—”

“You’ll _have_ to,” Timothy levelled a look at him. “I’m used to this, Rhys. I’ve worked for Jack for a long time. This is nothing _new.”_

“I…” Rhys’ mind stuttered. Because he wasn’t wrong.

“To stand at Handsome Jack’s side, there’s a few realities that one needs to face,” Timothy went on. “I accepted those realities a long time ago. At least until my contract is up, I can take it. But…”

He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to. The words hung heavily in the air over them.

_Can you?_

Rhys moved forward, throwing his arms around Timothy’s neck. The doppelgänger stiffened in surprise, but he ultimately returned the gesture, tugging Rhys close.

“Thank you for everything, Tim,” he hummed. “I promise — I’ll see you again.”

“I know you will, kiddo,” he chuckled. “You’ll have to convince Handsome Jackass to bring you to the casino sometime.”

“I…”

Rhys dropped back onto his feet, careful to look into Tim’s eyes.

“Tim… I’m really sorry about this. But I need you to do something for me.”

Timothy’s face was set with concern, but his nod was firm.

“Anything, Rhys.” And he really sounded like he meant it.

“I’ll send you the details soon,” he swallowed hard. “But there’s a thing I have to do first.”

Timothy moved in to give him another long hug, before stepping back to look him over. Then he silently nodded, turned, and headed for the door. Rhys watched, quietly suffering as his friend left the apartment. Once he was alone, he moved into the living room, and the place lapsed back into that silent, foreboding atmosphere.

As Rhys dropped into the couch, the backpack resting there sank into his thigh. He half-heartedly pushed it away before pressing his face into his palms, forcing himself to take a slow, laboured inhale of air. When he had left Jack’s place that morning, he hadn’t expected this turn of events. Despite all the unease swirling in his gut, he’d been intent on being _happy,_ on latching onto the warmth of Jack’s love and taking his fill. But the moment that airlock had opened, everything had changed.

Because it wasn’t Isaac he saw sitting there. It was Axton. And as hateful and angry and _violent_ as he wanted to be, to join Jack at his side and give Isaac what he deserved, he just...couldn’t. Instead, his attention remained on Jack, on the man he was struggling to recognize. And even then, he couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge what he had to do. It wasn’t until he was back in his quiet, empty apartment, after hearing Timothy’s strained confessions, that things finally clicked into place.

His ECHOeye sparked with life, blinking a few times as it activated. Rhys slowly turned over his palm, and stared at it with heavy dread. Seconds turned to minutes as he considered it, before finally, at last, he enabled the call.

“Jack,” he murmured, upon hearing the audible _click_. “We need to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I regret putting Rhys’ life on the line,” Isaac hummed, easing back. “It was an unfortunate necessity. But if he survives, at least he’ll finally see you for what you really are. And how little you actually cared for him.”
> 
> Damn, Isaac.
> 
> Posting in celebration of 3000 hits.  
> Thank you for the love. I hope you enjoy the next chapter. It's my favourite.


	27. Stay With Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grab your tissues now, kiddos.
> 
> For a couple reasons.

Jack’s penthouse was dark, but for the distant glow of Elpis beyond the tall windows spanning a full wall of the living room. This is where Rhys found him, sunk into a couch with a number of wine bottles littering the floor. He eased himself onto the arm of the loveseat, carefully maneuvering a bottle out of Jack’s hand to press the mouth to his lips. Jack remained still, but his eyes watched the bob of Rhys’ throat as he drank deep of the thick, warm fluid.

Rhys dropped the bottle away with a small gasp of air before running his arm across his face. He gazed toward the windows opposite, lingering on the beautiful, expansive view of space as Jack’s hand reached up to stroke his back.

“How we doin’, kitten.”

His response was a hum; he leaned into Jack’s touch and willed his heartbeat to slow. He took another swig of wine, drinking deep in search of the promises of courage somewhere inside.

“Rhysie?”

The bottle fell away, and Rhys stared at the ceiling for a moment. Then he dropped his head to hold Jack’s gaze.

“I’m going to ask you some things, Jack. And I need you to answer honestly. Can you do that for me?”

Jack’s answer was not forthcoming. He seemed to consider, chewing the thought as if tasting it. Then without a word, he nodded, and Rhys pushed up from his seat. He crossed to the table in the middle of the space to carefully sit down, taking a heavy, slow breath.

“…you had a daughter. Angel.”

Jack stiffened. Whatever he’d expected, it did not seem to be this; his mask drew tight with apprehension. It took a moment before he otherwise reacted, but after a beat, he again nodded.

“And she was a Siren.”

“…yes.”

Rhys shifted, setting the wine bottle onto the table. “And you hooked her up to a machine?”

Jack’s eyes fluttered closed. He rocked forward, pressing his face into his hands.

“Yes.”

Rhys hesitated, finding it difficult to force out the next question. An intense pressure was creeping its way into his chest, and he was very nearly willing to just surrender. To shut his mouth and climb into Jack’s arms. But he couldn’t.

“…and because of this, she wanted to die. And you watched them kill her.”

Jack flinched at the accusation. He ran anxious fingers through his hair, heaving a laboured exhale. The charming streak of silver fell free to hang down over his forehead.

“I…” he stopped, hissing sharply. _“No.”_

Rhys’ eyebrows rose.

“…I mean, yes. I was there. _Jack_ was there,” he mumbled. “But that was _after_ Nakayama. I only learned about how I’d died once you plugged me into that chair. I only found out Angel was even gone when I saw the…”

He didn’t finish.

Rhys had to grab onto the edge of the table to prevent himself from reaching out. Jack looked to be unravelling before his very eyes; he sank forward, as if subconsciously drifting toward Rhys for comfort. But at the end of it all, Rhys couldn’t give that to him. He was still part of the same Jack that was responsible for what happened to Angel. He was still to blame — for that and so much else.

Rhys swallowed hard before pressing on.

“When I was with the Crimson Raiders…” he paused at a pulse of sharp pain in his chest. “…you said you loved me.”

“Yes.” His voice was tight.

“Do you still mean it?”

“Yes.” Jack’s answer was so immediate that it took Rhys off guard. His heart palpated. “Yes, Rhysie. I do. I _lo—”_

“If I hadn’t left Helios, would you ever have said it?”

Jack lifted his head.

_“What?”_

“Do you remember what you said to me before I left, Jack?” Rhys snapped, as a surprising swell of emotion churned in his stomach. Memories of the exchange leapt to mind, leaving him heated with anger. “Tell me what you said.”

Jack stared heavily back at him. He palmed his face, scratching uneasily at the clasp on his chin, but never once broke eye contact. Finally, quietly, he gave in.

“…you mean nothing to me.”

Rhys closed his eyes. A shiver rippled through him as he stifled a whimper — _no more —_ doing his best to stave off a very heavy wash of sorrow. It was the worst he’d felt in the last few weeks, or months even, but he’d come here with a singular goal, and he wasn’t about to back down now. 

Slowly, carefully, he reached out to take Jack’s hands.

“I’m going to say something. And I need to make sure you hear me.”

Jack tensed, as if bracing himself.

“…Jack, I love you.”

Rhys was forced to press a hand to his chest, groaning against the discomfort of the weight over his heart. Jack faltered in concern, edging forward in his seat, but paused when Rhys shook his head to dissuade him. “…but—”

In that moment, it was the most horrible word that he knew. Nothing else embodied the full depth and intensity of the exact opposition of what clung to him, not even _hate._ Just simply that — _but_.

“Rhysie,” Jack croaked, voice fracturing under the stress of his hesitation. Rhys lifted his head, and he was almost torn in half by the look Jack was giving him. He felt a wash of nausea and emotion, and very nearly broke under the pressure, wanting to take back everything and move into Jack’s embrace.

But.

“— you aren’t good for me, Jack.”

The older man froze. His expression grew unreadable; his eyes scanned every inch of Rhys’ face. And yet, he said nothing, despite the utter havoc it seemed to wreak on them both. Never before had the two wanted to do so much, to simply _act,_ but somehow restrained themselves with every fibre of their being.

“When we came back from Pandora, you abandoned me,” Rhys continued, lifting his head in direct challenge. Jack drew back, eyebrows furrowing.

“Kitten, I—”

“Don’t talk, Jack, please…just _listen.”_

Again, to his credit, he went silent. He sat back into his seat, and while his mask was etched with trepidation, he didn’t utter another word. Rhys took another heavy, draining breath, before he went on.

“…it took months for me to even get back on my feet. And I bear that as a personal failing, honestly. Regardless of who was to blame, I was wrecked. But there was no good goddamn reason for that, Jack. Because I think we can both agree, that for the whole time we spent together, I was simply a means to an end. I was your only chance at getting back to Helios, so you grasped onto what you had. You always meant more to me than I did to you.”

Jack’s mouth tightened with restraint.

“I fought it for all those months. I still fight it. Despite waking up next to you, despite the affection, despite you _telling_ me that you loved me — as I’m fairly certain you only did that because I was being held captive by your greatest enemy—”

 _“Rhys,”_ Jack’s voice came out as a hiss when he finally collapsed. He fell forward, and Rhys had to put up his hand to forcefully silence him. Jack very visibly winced at the gesture, then grabbed onto Rhys’ hands, which sent an intensely delirious sensation storming through Rhys’ head. But the touch did not turn painful, and Jack instead dropped his head to press his face into their palms. Rhys ignored it, forcing himself to speak faster — to rip the bandaid off in a quick motion.

“—despite all of this, I never really believed it. I couldn’t. Because you don’t. And because I can’t. It will destroy me. As much as my heart pulls me back to you, as fucking hard as it hurts, I _can’t_ love you.”

The grip on his hands tightened as much as his throat did. Jack’s head remained low, and Rhys swore he almost saw a ripple pass through his shoulders.

“Rhys, don’t _do_ this to me,” he whispered. “…you are all that I have left.”

He closed his eyes, letting the words wash over him. It was confirmation, in a way. If Jack wasn’t so isolated, so utterly alone…would he need Rhys at all?

“I’m sorry, Jack.”

Silence hung over the two. Handsome Jack was on his knees, carefully gripping Rhys’ wrists. Through his touch, Rhys could feel shudders moving up his arms. _Here it comes_ , Rhys winced inwardly. _The anger. The fury._

But Jack didn’t move.

“I can go,” Rhys offered quietly, and Jack still did not respond. He shrugged, leaning forward onto his legs, but Jack would not release him. Something not unlike fear curled in Rhys’ stomach, as Jack remained in place, eerily quiet. But then he finally lifted his head, and Rhys’ heart snapped in half.

Jack’s eyes were red. His expression had softened so much that Rhys barely recognized the man on the floor.

“Please, just…stay,” he murmured. “Just for tonight.”

Rhys stiffened. “I don’t think—”

“Not...not for _that..._ ” Jack met his gaze. “I just _…please,_ Rhysie. I need you here.”

He briefly closed his eyes, allowing the weight of Jack’s request to hang over him. This was a really bad idea. But just one in a series of bad ideas at this point.

“…okay.”

Jack very slowly pushed himself up and sat back into the couch. He sank into its depths, gently patting his leg. Rhys immediately understood; he climbed up over the couch and settled across his lap, tucking against his side. Pressing his face into Jack’s shoulder, he did his best to shoo away the rest of the world, wanting for just a moment to be there, with him, in peace. If for the last time.

Jack lifted his hand to stroke fingers through his hair, and the tenderness of Jack’s touch did terrible things for him.

“I’ve got you, kitten,” he hummed into Rhys’ ear. “I’ll always be here.”

“I know, Jack,” he mumbled.

They lapsed back into silence, their bodies folding together in a warm cocoon. He fit perfectly into Jack’s shape, like he belonged there, and as Jack’s fingers drifted across his shoulders, affectionately sliding over his prosthetic, Rhys finally embraced the tugging at his heart. He sank into the temptation of _want, need, love_ — deciding that, just for now, just for tonight, he would give in to the strange, chaotic pull that had brought them together.

It was just him and Jack, and it was _everything_.

Jack’s breath washed over his hair with the kiss he pressed against his head. Rhys leaned into him, and while the older man rubbed circles into his back, he found himself wondering how many people had seen this side of Handsome Jack. Quiet, content, in some bizarre moment of neutrality. His first wife, presumably. Hopefully his daughter, at one time.

Rhys wasn’t arrogant enough to believe that he alone had this effect on the man, but the thought did do peculiar things to his stomach. Amongst other places. He shuffled with the unspoken swell, turning his head to bury his face against Jack to hide from it.

But as he moved his mouth across Jack’s neck, the plump of his lips brushed his pulse point. He felt Jack’s heart rate quicken, and his body shifted ever slightly beneath him, before he fell back into stroking his hair. Rhys stilled, wonderingly, eyes closed as he hovered just beyond the reach of temptation. Really, it was ill advised, what he was compelled to do.

But really, it was the last chance he had to do it.

So despite the tiny, screaming Vaughn on his shoulder, Rhys leaned in. He licked his lips, then reset them against Jack’s neck. He nipped gently at the skin, and was immediately rewarded with a sharp inhale of breath against his ear. The older man remained in place, but tensed beneath him; Rhys couldn’t help smiling. He pressed his mouth against Jack’s flesh and _sucked._

 _“Kitten...”_ Jack’s voice lowered to a soft growl in warning. His hand returned to Rhys’ back, gliding along his spine. Rhys ignored him, cheeks drawn tight as he worked the bruise into his skin. His body shifted ever slightly for a more ambitious position over Jack’s chest, and when he finished, he drew away with a satisfied _pop_ , sinking back to admire his handiwork. He almost smirked at the mark forming smack-dab in the middle of Jack’s neck.

But then Jack was manhandling him, and he gave a small “oh” when he found himself suddenly straddling his legs. Jack rolled his hips; the pair groaned together at the friction.

He could still backtrack. He could climb off of his lap, and walk out the front door. He _could._

But instead, he lifted his hands to cradle Jack’s face.

Jack again went still, eyes wide in anticipation. His lips parted, like he might speak, but the words didn’t seem to come to mind. So he simply sat back in the couch, and allowed Rhys to slowly, methodically begin releasing the clasps of his mask. He even helped Rhys to guide it free, reaching over to toss it onto the table. Then his hands returned to grip Rhys’ legs, thumbs running along the lines of his thighs while he stared back into his blue and brown eyes.

“Jack…” Rhys’ gaze roved over his face. He leaned forward, pressing an insistent kiss to his lips — his real lips — and Jack inhaled his scent.

“Rhysie,” he moaned. “Can I—”

“Most definitely. Yes.”

He slid his palms around Rhys’ thighs to grip his ass, and then he was on his feet. Rhys gave a little squeak as he was lifted into the air, wrapping his long legs around Jack’s hips while the older man carried him out of the room and down the hallway. He didn’t bother with the lights in the bedroom, coming to a stop at the side of the bed as they continued to lock lips between small, stolen breaths.

“Jack,” Rhys grumbled into his mouth. “Take this off.”

He had grasped onto his lapels and shook him; Jack almost stumbled at the demanding motion. A smirk shot over his features, and he gently bit at the corner of Rhys’ jaw.

“You got it, kitten.”

He dropped Rhys onto the bed, rewarded with a surprised yelp out of the younger man. Jack grinned mischievously at the look of irritation this earned him, pausing to tear his jacket off in a fluid motion. He unclasped his vest and let it fall with his shirt in a heap to the floor. But by the time he was lifting his sweater over his head, Rhys was already down to his pants.

“Slow down, Rhysie.” He impatiently jerked an eyebrow, although it was difficult not to trace the expansive tattoo on Rhys’ chest with his stare. “Let me.”

Rhys gazed up at him in confusion, then made a face. “Well, if you didn’t wear so many layers, this wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Shut up, princess,” Jack chided. “And lean back.”

Rhys grumbled, but acquiesced, dropping away with a childish pout. It quickly faded into something else, with the movement of Jack’s hands smoothing up his legs to work at his belt. The metal released with an easy flick, and with a jerk of the wrist, it slid free and dropped to the floor. As he moved to the zipper, he paused, then pressed a hand to Rhys’ crotch, palming the bulge he spied below his slacks.

“Jaaaaack,” Rhys tipped his head backward. “Damn it…”

“Something wrong, kitten?”

“Just—” he grimaced, and Jack laughed. “Put your stupid hand back on my dick.”

Jack’s chuckle dipped into a growl. He maneuvered himself over Rhys, pressing down on the younger man as he rubbed his palm against his erection. He ducked forward to lave his tongue across Rhys’ chest, following the line of the tattoo before sucking at his nipple, and he felt a very satisfying pulse in his hand.

_“Fuck.”_

Rhys brought his arm up to obscure his face. Heat had begun to crawl up his neck; he could not prevent his hips from bucking in place as Jack worked his magic. The instant Jack’s mouth had appeared on his nipple, he gave out a high pitched whine, but was quick to shove his fingers into his mouth to silence it.

Jack, of course, still noticed. He drew back, and there was a line of saliva connecting his mouth to Rhys’ tattooed flesh that sent a shiver of laughter through the younger man. Jack’s eyes narrowed before he leaned forward and forced their lips together in response. Rhys could taste the thick swell of spit; he wriggled in complaint only for Jack to push down to keep him in place. The resulting press of Jack’s own thick cock against his had Rhys thrilling at the sensation, and when a pair of hands appeared at his waist, he wriggled his hips to assist in tearing off the rest of his clothing.

Rhys whined at the loss of Jack’s lips, only to feel the gentle nudge of his thumb against his throat. He opened his eyes wide to find Jack staring heavily back at him, nodding sharply toward the bed.

“Into the middle, Rhysie.”

He obeyed Jack’s deliciously heavy order immediately, somewhat urgently clawing his way across the bedspread. Upon centring himself in the mattress, he cast a gaze toward Jack to find the other man at last removing his pants. He almost wanted to chuckle as his cock quickly bobbed into view, _still free-balling, Jack?,_ but he was suddenly wordless, gripped with an intense drive of _lust._

“Jack…” he moaned, sinking into the blankets for Jack to crawl over his body.

“Open that mouth again, baby,” Jack growled, swiping his fingers across Rhys’ lips. “Let me in.”

He did. Jack’s fingers were thick and warm; Rhys painted them with his tongue. He shuddered as the pads of his fingertips brushed deeper into his throat, angling his head back at the effort.

“Good work, kitten,” Jack offered. “That’s my Rhysie.”

Jack replaced his fingers with his tongue, and Rhys sobbed happily into his mouth. His hands scrambled across Jack’s shoulders, dragging him close as he felt the other man’s probing touch drop between his legs.

He pressed inside, straight to the knuckle. Rhys arched, muscles tight around the prying digit. It didn’t hurt — not yet, and Rhys sharply exhaled at the rush of desire that shot up between the “v” of his hips to pool in his gut.

“Jack,” he hissed, nearly biting through his lip. _“Please.”_

Adding the second finger, Jack grunted his own heated breath before biting down onto Rhys’ neck. The pleasure that this sent jolting through Rhys’ spine had his mind stuttering; his head sank back into the pillow and his jaw dropped open.

“Shit,” he hissed, knees tightening around Jack’s flanks. “That’s… _yeah._ Okay.”

Jack laughed. “Stay with me, Rhysie. We’ve got a couple to go.”

“No.” He shook his head, tugging at Jack’s shoulders. “Now. Please. I can do it.”

“Kitten, are you su—”

“Jack, just—” Rhys made a face at the stretch. He writhed against the sheets, neck angled as Jack worked his knuckles inside and spread his fingers. “Wait. Shut up. Get on your back.”

Jack gave him a pointed look, then grumbled in compliance. Rhys groaned at the removal as Jack withdrew before he was forced into a roll. As the larger man replaced him, turned onto his back, Rhys shuffled between his legs, curling his arms beneath his thighs. At last, Jack clued into his intentions, and his eyes edged open as he sank back into the pillows.

Rhys lapped at the weeping head of Jack’s cock, which was stiff with need, and slicked saliva across the beads of precum. Jack stiffened, resisting the impulse to thread fingers through Rhys’ hair and instead formed a death grip on the sheets at his sides. He eased back, forcing himself to remain content with just _watching._

You know, for _now._

Rhys pushed onto his elbows, dragging himself forward as his lips slid around the head of Jack’s cock. He held it in his mouth, running the tip of his tongue back and forth along the frenulum before pressing forward to take in more. Jack involuntarily shifted beneath him, pushing his length further past Rhys’ lips so that it filled his throat. His nostrils flared in surprise, and he took a breath in anticipation before moving deeper.

In short order, he buried his face against Jack, feeling the tickle of hair against his nose, and fought off the urge to choke and sputter as Jack grunted over him.

 _“Fuck,_ kitten, you are somethin’ else _.”_

Hearing praise from Handsome Jack’s voice never failed to send a shock of desire straight to his dick. Rhys moaned around the length in his throat, canting his hips to rub his own cock against the bedspread beneath his belly. He adjusted his balance, sliding his flesh hand down to set a dual rhythm between them both. Bracing his knees, he edged forward, bobbing his head to increase the pace. His cheeks drew taut with suction as his tongue caressed across flesh and Jack gave a surprising sound of _need._

“Rhysie, baby, much as I — _nng—”_

It was difficult to smirk up at Jack with his cock jammed deep into his mouth, but somehow Rhys managed. Jack bucked beneath him, dragging the sheets into a tight hold. When he gathered his fraying mind, he again dropped his gaze to watch Rhys work, and his hair hung in sweat-slicked locks over his scar. The intensity of his hungry, wandering eyes caused Rhys to shiver in wanton delight; he squeezed the grip around his own thrusts and sucked hard at Jack’s length.

“Fuck, kitten, I’m gonna need inside of you… _now.”_

Jack’s hand had appeared on the back of his head, but Rhys latched onto it with his prosthetic. He backed away, giving a delicious _pop_ as Jack’s length fell free from his lips, lifting his attention toward the man beneath him.

This had almost been enough to drive Jack over the edge. Rhys was flush from the effort; his cheeks were pink and warm and his lips were swollen and wet with saliva. His eyes had drooped, half-lidded as he gazed back. Then he was climbing over him, and Jack dropped his hands to cradle his thighs.

Rhys settled over his hips, pressing their bared, slick cocks together. Jack almost whined at the sensation (except Handsome Jack does not _whine),_ so he settled for digging his teeth into the flesh of Rhys’ shoulder. Rhys bucked over him, pushing down into his pelvis, and Jack growled into his skin, tasting blood.

 _“Jack,”_ Rhys cried. “Need you to—”

“I got you, Rhysie,” he angled his head, nipping at Rhys’ ear.

_“No—”_

Hostility flashed in Jack’s eyes as Rhys gripped his wrists and pinned them over his head. Rhys ground down against him in response, wriggling his hips to press them together. Jack growled his lust, ready to flip Rhys over and fuck him into the bed, when the younger man adjusted his hold so that both of Jack’s hands were caught in his cybernetic arm’s vice-like grip. His flesh hand was left free to reach back and line himself up with Jack’s cock.

Jack relented in sudden understanding, and Rhys breathlessly chuckled. Sex with Jack was often a fight — and this time, he planned to win.

But when he pressed down, and the head of Jack's cock pushed its way inside, it proved difficult to hold on to the scattered threads in his mind. His prosthetic maintaining its hold on Jack’s wrists was all that kept him balanced, as he drifted into a peculiar space of pain and pleasure.

Jack was similarly displaced, mustering all the strength he had not to thrust upward into the man on top of him. His eyes were wide as he scanned Rhys’ face, catching every wince and shiver that passed through his expressions.

Something strange had crept into his chest, feeling heavy and hollow. Jack frowned, blinking at the gnawing sensation. Everything in his mind was screaming at him as he stared at his precious Rhysie, begging him to _grab, take, keep._ His hands drew into fists where they were painfully drawn against one another, and he very seriously considered it — to force his love on Rhys and keep him there, in his bed, in his arms, forever.

A heated, yawning sensation stretched over the scar on his face, and Jack stiffened, before sinking deeper into his pillow. Because he knew, even now, that he couldn’t do that to Rhys. The old Jack, maybe. Well, _definitely._ But that simply wasn’t him anymore. And as Rhys whined and pressed and paused for a laboured breath, Jack could but surrender to his heart and close his eyes.

Then Rhys was pushing consistently _downward,_ and Jack’s eyes rolled back into his skull.

Rhys did not bother fighting the cry that ripped out of his lungs when he bottomed out on Jack's cock. The resulting sensation that flooded the entirety of his body almost had him doubled over, and the breath was punched out of him in an instant. He only realized he’d released Jack’s hands when they appeared on his jawline; his eyes drifted in wonder to Jack’s face.

“You’re doing great, kitten,” Jack murmured. “You okay?”

Rhys couldn’t say. Instead, he mutely nodded, and Jack ran comforting fingers through his hair.

“Do you want me to take it from here, baby?”

Again, he nodded.

Jack gently smiled at Rhys, giving him a moment to slow his racing heart as he felt the strain of tight muscles around his length. Then he dropped his hands to his thighs, gently coaxing him up onto his knees. Rhys leaned forward, allowing Jack to grip his ass and hold him aloft while he braced his heels against the mattress.

He started slow, tilting his pelvis to thrust upward into Rhys. The younger man groaned softly, and his eyes squeezed shut. He was painfully tight, but showed signs of loosening up, and Jack took his time at increasing his speed. But then Rhys was rocking on his knees, moving back to meet his thrusts.

“Shit,” Jack hissed, arching his back as his pace picked up. Rhys’ hands pressed into the sheets on each side of his head, and they braced against one another as Jack began to rut into him.

“Talk to me, baby,” he hummed, staring up at Rhys’ strained face.

“Nn—” Rhys grunted. _“Jack.”_

Hearing his name sent a vicious yearning through his entire frame. The muscles in Jack’s thighs clenched as he set a punching course; his balls slapped against Rhys’ ass and the younger man canted his head backward.

 _“God,_ Jack. You…”

_No gods here, baby, just the King — It’s just Jack, sweetheart — That’s right, baby, say my name — You fit my cock like you were made for it —_

Jack found it impossible to latch onto any of the words swirling through his skull to spit them out. Instead, all he could muster was:

“Stay with me, Rhysie. _Please.”_

And Rhys _whimpered._ But nothing else.

An intense, permeating pressure had begun to build, and Jack was quickly reaching his threshold. He struggled against it, tamped it down, but then Rhys was pressing down against his chest. And suddenly Jack’s senses were filled with Rhys’ taste and Rhys’ scent and _Rhys, Rhys, Rhys—_

He adjusted his balance to free a hand, and worked it between them. His fingertip pressed between his cock and Rhys’ ass, and the younger man finally found his wits.

“Jack, no, I can’t—”

“Trust me, baby,” he uttered. “You’re doing so good. Just trust me.”

Rhys nodded fiercely into his shoulder. Jack pressed forward, forcing them to sit up together, and Rhys cried out in delight and pain as the finger slid inside, joining against the already tight press of Jack’s cock. Jack folded his legs to wrap around Rhys, cradling him in his lap, and worked his finger deeper. And as he moved it into place, and pushed against his prostate, Rhys went stock still.

His unheeded, weeping cock twitched against Jack’s stomach. Jack almost chuckled, but realized his breath had suddenly vanished. Instead, he began to work his thighs, moving Rhys up and down his length while simultaneously pressing against that vulnerable, wonderful spot _._

“Jack,” Rhys sobbed, dragging him impossibly close in his arms. “I love you, Jack.”

“Love you, Rhysie—” Jack hummed, as his pace began to pick back up. “Love you so _goddamn—”_

It proved to be too much. Rhys arched suddenly; ejaculate spewed from his pulsating cock in thick, heated spurts. He flinched and moaned and _clenched_ , and Jack grunted in response. He bit down onto Rhys’ neckline, and came in a heavy, overwhelming rush.

Rhys pressed his face into Jack’s shoulder, eyes squeezed painfully tight. They rode through the waves together, jerking spasmodically in one another’s grasp. At last he remembered to _breathe,_ and his lungs burned as they remembered their purpose. And when the last lances of pleasure tore through him in jerks and twitches, he felt the stick of sweat and cum between their chests, and the beating of Jack’s heart, and the heat of Jack’s lips on his tattoo.

He felt unbearably hot and exhausted and permeated with a feeling of _wrong, wrong, wrong,_ but it was all drowned out by the touch of Jack’s skin and the hum at his ear. Jack held him tight to his frame, refusing to let go, and for a brief moment Rhys wanted to just _stay._

And once again, Jack was tempted to lose control of himself — to _make_ him stay.

Rhys belonged to _him._ He was his alone, and Handsome Jack did not _lose._

But instead, he just held him close, deciding to just cherish their moment. His fingers stroked and reached and mapped his body and committed it to memory. He inhaled deeply at his neck and grasped for all the words that described his scent. He held desperately tight, choosing to believe that for now, forever, it was simply him and Rhys.

And Rhys remained in his arms, as the haze of their mutual orgasm faded away, and the insistent appeal of sleep tugged at their shoulders. He stayed there, clutching him, loving him, giving him everything he needed.

For the very last time.

* * *

It was around 3AM when Rhys blinked himself awake. He gazed about groggily, finding it difficult to tear himself away from the warmth that enveloped him. As he roused himself, however, he felt the remnant, swirling chaos of emotions from the day before beginning to creep back in. He shivered, moving to crawl out from Jack’s embrace, when his eyes fell on his restful face. And very suddenly, he was wide awake.

For some reason, Rhys had expected him to have replaced the mask. To have left his side in the middle of the night to hunt it down. But instead, he slept peacefully, face pressed into the pillow, with the scar on full display. It almost seemed to glow in the dull light of the room, leaving Jack looking very human. Vulnerable. Exposed.

Trusting. _Loving._

Rhys turned away as he felt a fresh wash of tears threaten the corners of his eyes. He felt almost compelled to reach out and touch Jack — caress his cheek and tug him close — but somehow, he managed to carefully climb off the bed instead. He very quietly found his clothes, dressed, and cast one last mournful look at Jack before heading out the door.

The elevator ride to the Hub took a painfully long time. It took even longer to make his way across the station, and into the depths of Helios. He stopped briefly at his apartment to tug on a hooded jacket and grab his backpack from the couch, pausing only to quietly stare into Vaughn’s empty room before continuing on his way. Luckily, at this time of the morning, very few people were awake, and even fewer who might’ve spotted Rhys heading to the more vacant levels.

When he arrived in the obscure location, Timothy was already awaiting him. He stood with his back to the humming, angular machine, arms folded across his chest.

“Rhys…” He shifted uncomfortably, looking him over. “Are you sure about this?”

“I am.” Rhys lowered his eyes to the floor. “I’m sorry to involve you.”

“It’s fine…I understand,” Timothy nodded. “Trust me.”

He held out the Fast Travel Pass, and Rhys accepted it.

“Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I will,” Rhys offered a small smile. “After all…I learned from the best.”

Timothy smirked back. He drew Rhys into a hug, lingered there, then left him alone. Rhys watched mournfully as the door slid shut behind him, before glancing down at the pass in his hands. He turned to the Fast Travel Station, scanning it without hesitation.

Okay, maybe a _little_ hesitation. As he activated his cybernetics, ready to enter in the location metadata, Rhys gazed over his shoulder at nothing, remembering Jack’s face in the last instant. The arch of that tormenting, painful scar. The way his lips sat open as he slumbered. How his hair hung down over his eyes. Rhys fiercely shivered, fighting against the flutter in his chest.

_Good-bye, Jack._

He activated his palm, and triggered the pass. There was a bright blue flash, and Rhys disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my favourite chapter. It was also the most difficult to write, being the only chapter to alternate between shared perspectives of characters.  
> Poor Jack.


	28. Well, Shite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I changed my mind. You get one now and one later.

Rhys shivered against the distinct chill that had descended over the small bandit settlement, pausing to zip his jacket up to his chin. Most of the town was quiet at this time of morning, but Moxxi’s bar still lit up the streets with a welcoming, orange glow and raucous din that could be heard from several blocks away. It was a stark contrast to the cold, empty streets where Rhys found himself — inviting, to say the least. But despite all of this, Rhys couldn’t bring himself to push his way through the front doors.

He stood about twenty feet from the entrance, arms wrapped about his frame in minor comfort. His hood was up for the sake of obscurity, as he had little doubt he’d made the top of the Crimson Raiders’ shit list in the last couple of days. And while he wasn’t certain of Lilith’s fate, he wasn’t about to take his chances with crossing her path. She had been overflowing with eridium to the point he was pretty sure that they only succeeded at pissing her off. So he avoided the building where he had been locked up, kept his head low, and turned his hopes to the bar instead.

This was really, really stupid. He had defied amazing odds to get back home alive, and now here he was again — alone, vulnerable, and feeling more than a little foolish.

No one would come to save him this time. But he just had to know.

…so why couldn’t he move his feet?

“You lost?”

A rather embarrassing squeak tore out of Rhys’ mouth as the hand descended on his shoulder. He spun sharply, extending his stun baton toward the figure that had appeared at his back. The man took a definitive step away, arms raised in mock surrender, and Rhys exhaled with some relief to find that he did not appear to be Hyperion _or_ a Crimson Raider. But he still didn’t appreciate the cocky grin aimed his way.

 _“Shiiiiite,”_ the man snickered. “You’re wound like a top.”

“Sorry,” Rhys flinched, lowering the stun baton. “I have to watch my back.”

His expression shifted into something friendly, helping a little to put Rhys at ease. “Oh, trust me — I get that. S’no way to live, I’m tellin’ you.”

Rhys took the moment to look him over. At first, the older man almost appeared unassuming, with his short, silvery hair and a scruffy (but kind of terrific) facial hair. But then he noticed the multiple guns strapped to his lean frame, and a surprising amount of tech applied to his gear. There was a HUD enhancement obscuring his left eye, along with what looked to be a port on his neck, and Rhys found himself wondering if he, too, was sporting an ECHOeye.

“Are you a Vault Hunter?” Rhys asked with a small amount of awe.

“Somethin’ like that,” the man shrugged, hands resting against his hips. “Not sure what it means yet. And what’re you, exactly? You don’t look like the adventurin’ type.”

Rhys pouted his indignation before turning his attention to the bar. “I was just looking for a friend.”

“Aren’t we all,” the man’s voice curled suggestively as he playfully nudged Rhys’ ribs. “Who is it you’re lookin’ fer? Maybe I can help.”

He eyed the man’s narrow face from the corner of his eye, watching for a reaction. “Axton. You know him?”

“Ohhh, yeah. Big, blond, soldier type? My pal with the turret. He’s inside.”

Rhys almost groaned at the flood of relief. _He’s inside._ Not — _he’s dead._

“He… _really?”_

“Uh, yeah.” The Vault Hunter gave him a weird look. “You’re not lookin’ to settle a score or nothin’? I’d hate to be helpin’ set me boy up, with what he’s been through.”

“No, no,” Rhys waved his hands. “Nothing like that. I just needed to see if he was okay.”

The Vault Hunter quirked an eyebrow, taking a step forward that almost had Rhys staggering back. But then he smirked, tilting his head in consideration. “Alright. I’ll take your word on it. But know this — if yer lyin’, I won’t hesitate to put one right here.”

Rhys flinched as the Vault Hunter tapped him sharply between the eyes. He cackled, turned on his heel, and gestured for him to follow as he headed for the bar. 

“W-wait!”

The man groaned, sliding to a halt. _“C’mon,_ boyo. What’s the hold up?”

“Uh…” Rhys swallowed. He clenched the fabric of his jacket in his hand, eyeing the doors of the bar in trepidation. “Is the Firehawk in there?”

“Lilith? Nah. No one’s seen her in a while. Now let's _go._ The booze is callin’ me name.”

The Vault Hunter returned to Rhys’ side to loop an arm around his shoulders, dragging him forward. As they approached the door, Rhys faltered in his step, forcing a deep breath before they pressed in past the threshold.

Loud, pounding music surrounded the pair, drowning out most everything else in the dingy space. On their route through the bar, the Vault Hunter swiped a bottle from the counter, then led Rhys past several mostly empty booths and a few blinking slot machines. They headed toward the back of the room, to a small alcove with a doorway to an adjoining room, outside of which a cluster of familiar faces gathered, causing Rhys to again dig his heels against the floor. His eyes darted between Mordecai, Maya, and the massive psycho at her side. They didn’t seem to notice him at first, but Rhys could not stop the silver-haired Vault Hunter from stepping into the fray.

“Package for Axton!” he chirped over the noise, drawing the attention of the intimidating trio.

“Hey, Zane. What’s—” Mordecai stopped dead upon spotting Rhys over the Vault Hunter’s shoulder. For an agonizing, frozen moment, the two simply stared at each other; Rhys tried desperately to read the sniper’s expression, to no avail. He flinched when Mordecai kicked off from his spot leaning against the wall to square his shoulders in his direction.

“How the hell did _you_ get here?”

Yup. He was _pissed._

“Fast travel...” Rhys ducked his head, mumbling too quietly for Mordecai to hear. Luckily for him, however, the interrogation was cut short.

“Rhys?”

Axton appeared in the doorway. Rhys’ heart stopped.

The soldier’s face lit up, and the sight of his smile sent a fantastic thrill rocketing through Rhys’ core. He looked surprisingly unscathed by his ordeal, sporting only a scant number of bandages across his exposed skin, and still moved with the upright, confident stride that Rhys remembered. When he crossed toward him, covering the distance in a few determined strides, Rhys could do little more than gape like a fish before he was swallowed in the Commando’s tugging embrace.

Thick arms folded around his waist, and they were suddenly very close. Rhys struggled to gather his wits, finding it nearly impossible at this proximity, and settled instead for burying his nose against Axton’s neck to inhale his scent, grasping on to his shoulders.

_Gunpowder, sweat, and musk._

“You’re _alive,”_ Rhys exhaled, craning his face toward Axton’s ear. He felt the Commando nod, his grip tighten.

“Welcome back, Rhys.”

He made to step back, trying in vain to put room between them so he could more closely examine the man, as if to confirm he was real and not some lovely illusion, but he was only pulled closer. Axton threaded fingers through his hair, and pressed their lips together.

Time stopped. Delicious lust and shameful regret swirled within Rhys as their mouths met. At every gentle nip, every flick of a tongue, and a light pull against his hip, Rhys quivered, while one lonely thought lurked in the back of his mind:

_I am Jack’s._

But as Axton’s free hand found his, looping through his cybernetic fingers, the sentiment struggled to reach the surface. Rhys floundered, lost in a daze. At his inaction, Axton smirked against his lips, then took a solid grip of his jacket and hauled him into the next room.

The door shut behind them, effectively dampening the pounding music of the bar. Axton drew away long enough for Rhys to be able to glance around the room, frowning at what he saw. There was a makeshift bunk here, presumably where Axton had been staying during Rhys’ captivity and his own resulting recovery. Various empty hypos were discarded across the floor, leaving Axton to nudge them out of the way with his boot to lead Rhys across to the bed. Rhys’ stomach turned over as he acknowledged them, but he was unable to say as much before he was being drawn down over the Commando’s hips.

Rhys blanched, nearly losing his balance as his knee slid into place alongside Axton’s thigh, and then suddenly he was in his lap. His heart climbed its way into his throat as he lifted his head in question, caught by the sheer intensity of Axton’s stare. And as the soldier pressed his back to the wall, and Rhys relaxed into the comfort of leaning against him, he found that all he could do was stare right back.

“I thought I’d lost you.” Axton’s voice was soft; he gently slipped fingers along Rhys’ jawline. “Zero told me about Lilith. I’m sorry, Rhys. I should have been there to protect you.”

 _Lost me?_ _You never—_ Rhys shifted against a pain in his chest. “Ax…you almost _died.”_

“Are you kidding?” he winked. “I’ve seen worse. It was nothing a few insta-healths couldn’t fix.”

The revelation didn’t help to set Rhys at ease. His attention dropped to Axton’s abdomen, to where he’d seen the dark swell of blood. He lifted his hand to nudge the zipper at the neck of Axton’s jacket.

“May I…?”

Axton followed his gesture, eyes drawn wide. He slowly nodded his consent, arching his back to give Rhys the access he needed.

Rhys took a calming breath, and gripped the zipper. He pulled it down in a smooth motion, drawing each side of the jacket apart to reveal what hid below. The shirt beneath was torn, stained with old blood. Rhys had to fight past a wash of guilt as he ran fingertips along the hem. But he quickly lost the battle, and closed his eyes with a wince.

He recoiled in shock as Axton’s hands maneuvered around his hips to grip his thighs. Then suddenly he was on his back, and the Commando pressed between his legs. Rhys’ lips parted, breath stuttering as he looked up in wonder.

But Axton wasn’t looking at him. He was slowly, methodically peeling off his gear and jacket, leaning over to drop everything into a heap on the floor. Then he eased back, drawing his shirt over his head to reveal the skin beneath. Rhys almost moaned at the sight.

The only word that jumped to mind was _‘ripped’._ Axton’s torso was thick with dense muscles, the kind that only came from a hard life of combat. He even managed to put Vaughn to shame, with a solid frame that had Rhys simultaneously feeling envious and drooling. Rhys reached up to stroke across a network of faded scars. His markings were old — battle wounds from the past — and as Rhys crossed to the “v” of Axton’s hips, he found the place to be thankfully unmarred. There was no sign of the bullet hole that Jack’s pistol had punched through him; the flesh had perfectly meshed back together thanks to the many insta-healths.

Rhys couldn’t help but shudder his delight, and at the sound of Axton’s chuckle, realized he had been staring, slack-jawed and silent.

“You, uh…” Rhys gulped. “Yeah. I guess you’re okay then.”

Axton smirked, then dipped his head. Rhys was flush with the mattress as the Commando left insistent kisses down his jaw. Then Axton was lying prone over him, pressing the lines of their bodies together. As they lazily made out, tasting one another while they groped and held and caressed, Rhys was surprised by how utterly gentle the soldier was. His touch was slow and patient and Rhys caught himself wanting to urge him into action _._ _Take what you want._

But when he at last found a chance to breathe, he realized he was adrift, too far away to properly form a coherent sentence. Something had taken hold of his mind, and he was lost in a struggle to accept what he was about to do.

“Rhys…” Axton’s hands drifted down his jacket to settle at his waist. Rhys shivered at the thumb crossing his hip bone through his clothing. “If you don’t want this, you need to tell me. Because _otherwise…”_

Rhys opened his mouth. He closed his mouth. Axton smiled.

The Commando advanced again, peppering him with kisses. There was nothing rough, nothing urgent about his movements. He mouthed softly at Rhys’ ear before moving down his jaw. Rhys began to tug at his own jacket, scrabbling for the zipper that yet rested just below his chin, when Axton ground down on his pelvis. The two simultaneously moaned at the sensation; Rhys felt his cock jump to life despite the chaos in his head.

This was wrong. This was all _kinds_ of wrong. But despite the roaring concern of _betrayal_ in his ears, Rhys did not deviate. He tilted his head, lips parted in a heated exhale. He’d have to get over Jack somehow, right? What better way, than under the dense, muscular form of the Commando himself? And this time, he was determined not to say Jack’s name. He wouldn’t, he wouldn’t, he _wouldn’t—_

But then Axton’s touch disappeared, and Rhys opened his eyes in question.

Axton had moved away, sitting back on his knees. His expression had faded into a frown.

“Rhys… What happened when you went back?”

“H-huh?” Rhys floundered, blinking his surprise. “What do you mean?”

And suddenly, Axton was on his feet. He began to dress at an alarming rate, leaving Rhys more than a little confused as he sat up to watch. Then he was headed for the door, and Rhys panicked, almost tripping as he jumped up to give chase.

It wasn’t until the pair had reemerged into the pounding music of the bar before Rhys managed to grab the Commando’s shoulder to halt his escape. And even then it was only because Axton relented, clenching his fists as he came to a stiff pause. He did not turn back to look at Rhys, but the tightness of his jaw, the curl of his lips were just visible over his shoulder.

“Ax, please!”

“How did you get back here, Rhys?” Axton’s voice was drawn thin. “What are you doing here?”

Rhys fumbled for words, finding himself at a loss. He’d _never_ seen the Commando look angry before. Defensive — _protective,_ for sure, but nothing like _this._ When he spun, setting his furrowed gaze on him, Rhys nearly tripped backward in shock.

He flinched as Mordecai stepped in line with Axton, sagging under the combined, withering stares. “Yeah. Should we be expecting an army of loader bots to drop in any time now?”

Rhys dropped his head at the pulse of unease. “No… It’s fine.”

“You sure about that? Maybe—”

“I said it’s _fine,”_ Rhys snapped, sharply eyeing the sniper. “He wasn’t even awake when I left. I doubt he’s even…”

Axton’s eyes went wide. Rhys closed his mouth, wincing in shame.

“No kidding,” Mordecai snorted, folding his arms as he leaned back. “After everything we told you about Handsome Jack, you still climbed back into his bed, huh?”

Rhys slumped. “I… It’s not…It wasn’t—”

“Save it.”

Axton was suddenly in his space, face angled as he leaned in close.

“I’m not dealing with your shit. I don’t care anymore. And I never should have in the first place.”

“I… _Ax.”_

The soldier’s expression softened, contorting into an utter disappointment that _levelled_ Rhys. He wanted to reach out, to grab a hold of him. But he was gripped with deep remorse, and that familiar, haunting realization that _he really was a terrible person._

“I’m sorry, Rhys. I never should’ve…” Axton trailed off, closing his eyes. “I _want_ to, hon’. I _still_ want to. But…”

Rhys said nothing. He surrendered to his fate, knowing now how Jack had felt, sitting in that seat across from him.

“You just aren’t the person I thought you were.”

_“Ax…”_

“Good-bye, Rhys.”

In the next moment, he was gone, heading off into the bar. Rhys considered chasing him — _what just happened?_ — but it was pointless. That, and he was pinned in place by a rather insistent hold on his shoulder. He turned his head to Mordecai, whose face was tight with hatred.

“Mordecai, please,” Rhys frowned. “I have to explain…”

“Explain what?” Mordecai spat. “Let me ask you somethin’. Did you or did you not go back to Handsome Jack?”

“I left him. I _swear_. Why do you think I’m here?”

“Oh yeah? So what’s this?”

Mordecai tugged sharply at Rhys’ jacket. He drifted back, trying to glance down to where the sniper had shoved a finger against his neck. But he didn’t need to see it to know what Mordecai was talking about. No doubt, there was a heavy, telltale bruise mottling the skin around his tattoo. Rhys squeezed his eyes shut as he froze in Mordecai’s grasp. Finally, Axton’s quick retreat made sense.

_I am Jack’s._

“You were pretty eager to get back to your lover, huh?”

“It’s not like that.”

_It is._

“I don’t give a crap.” Mordecai shook his head. “What I do care about is Ax. And you’re going to stay the hell away from him. You get me?”

“I…” Rhys whimpered. He released Mordecai’s arm, and sank against the wall. “…yeah. Okay. I’m sorry.”

Mordecai stared heavily at him for a few moments, before lifting his hand to point into his face.

“You and Handsome Jack? You two _deserve_ each other.”

…yeah. That was fair.

“I think that’s enough.”

The pair turned in unison at Zer0’s approach. The helmeted Vault Hunter moved close, lifting his arms between the two to separate them.

“Time to back down, Mordecai. / I think he gets it.”

The sniper stiffened. He glanced back at Rhys, lip tugging into a snarl, before he relented, releasing Rhys to wave a hand in the air in dismissal.

“Leave before morning. Don’t come back.”

Rhys remained in place against the wall until Mordecai disappeared from sight. He palmed his face at the heavy ripple of angst tearing through his body. It wasn’t until a touch appeared on his shoulder that he finally opened his eyes.

“Come on,” Zer0 droned. “You look like you need a drink.”

Rhys blinked. The first thing he’d heard from the lanky Vault Hunter that wasn’t in the form of a haiku, and it was a peculiarly friendly gesture. _Yup. Really cool_. Zer0 gestured toward the bar, and Rhys moved to follow, but faltered.

“…can you just give me a few minutes? I think I need to catch my breath.”

Zer0 remained silent a moment, seeming to consider. Then he nodded, and a bright red smiley face lit up the space in front of his helmet.

“Take the time you need. / You can find me at the bar / when you are ready.”

“Thanks, Zero…for everything.”

The Vault Hunter again nodded, then slipped away. Rhys lingered a moment, casting one last glance around the bar, to the few occupants yet lingering about. But when he came up empty, he shrugged, and wandered back into the room to sit on Axton’s bed instead.

He was old friends with the flutter of shame in his stomach by this point. And while it was tempting enough to believe that it all went back to Jack — that Rhys belonged to him, and Jack had ruined him for everyone else — he knew it was more than that. Because Mordecai was right: Rhys and Jack deserved one another, in all the worst ways. Their bizarre, symbiotic connection that fed off _havoc_ and _lust_ was like a black hole to anyone unfortunate enough to get close. And Rhys was ready to acknowledge that he had gotten as much out of their relationship as Jack had. He was not a victim. He was not emotionally broken.

He was simply Jack’s. And Jack was his.

Everyone that came after would simply be _nothing,_ which very much applied to Axton. Hell, only a few hours had passed between Rhys reaching a frankly unforgettable orgasm while riding atop Handsome Jack’s cock, and him also writhing with pleasure beneath the Commando’s hips. And despite the feelings of guilt toward Axton and the warning bells in his head, Rhys could fully admit that he had not intended to stop. He was desperate to convince himself that he was ready to leave — to evade his obsessive love, by any means possible.

Luckily for Ax, Rhys wore his allegiances on his neck.

He hadn’t arrived there looking for redemption. He hadn’t been hoping that he and Axton would run off into the sunset together. He had simply shown up to confirm that, no, he hadn’t gotten Axton killed, and that he could still put his head down and sleep at night. Because Rhys wasn’t looking to replace Jack. He wasn’t moving on. Handsome Jack was the only man he would ever truly love.

And so he instead chose not to love at all.

But maybe it was all pointless. Maybe it was impossible to forget the hypnotic pull between them, the everlasting draw of that man who had been so vulnerable, so loving at the end. Maybe Rhys should just give up, just go _back—_

“Looks like yer reunion went to shit.”

Rhys dragged his face out of his palms to acknowledge the Vault Hunter in the doorway. He shrugged, casting his glance to the floor, and remained in place as the silvery haired man crossed over and sank into the bed beside him. The Vault Hunter maneuvered a cold, perspiring bottle into his hand, and Rhys stared at it in numb surprise.

“Figured you’d be needin’ this.”

Lifting his head, he gave the older man a careful once-over. There didn’t seem anything nefarious to his actions, despite the generally intimidating facade he carried with him. If anything, he just looked like a decent drinking buddy, especially with how he held his own beer out, waiting in silent expectation.

Rhys lifted his bottle, and clanked the two together.

“Thanks.”

“Cheers, Hyperion.”

The bottle didn’t even manage to make it to his mouth; Rhys froze in place with his head tipped back and lips parted. The Vault Hunter chuckled softly, then downed a swig.

“You knew?” Rhys accused, blinking slowly.

“What do you take me for, boyo?” he smirked. “Jus’ _lookit_ you.”

Rhys dropped his head in question. Well, that was fair. His jacket hid most of his clean-cut, company man aesthetic, but the article itself didn’t exactly scream _Pandoran_. He’d been so focused on running that he had neglected to pay attention to the smaller details.

“So, uh…” he swallowed, side-eyeing the pistol holstered at the man’s hip that nudged his thigh. “…you’re not gonna turn me in…right?”

“Depends,” the Vault Hunter leaned close. “How much you worth?”

Rhys minutely shifted, considering the door. The Vault Hunter’s resulting peal of laughter almost set intent into action, but he forced himself to drown out the rapid beating of his heart as the man smacked him across the back.

“Holy _shite_ , boyo. I’m takin’ the piss. Take a bloody breath before you pass out on me.”

His expression lapsed into an unamused sneer. This only seemed to further bolster the Vault Hunter, who had thrown an arm around his shoulder.

“You’re all right,” he chuckled, jabbing him in the arm. “What’s yer name?”

“Rhys,” he answered, only after he managed to find his breath again. “Strongfork. You?”

“Zane _‘Ferocity’_ Flynt,” he grinned. “At yer service.”

“Ferocity, huh?” Rhys smiled faintly. “So if you’re a Vault Hunter, why haven’t I heard of you?”

“It’s a new gig,” he shrugged. “Haven’t been back to Pandora in _years._ Spent most a’ that time avoidin’ the place, to be honest.”

“Probably a good idea. And hey, I bet you’re probably the only Vault Hunter I know who isn’t on Hyperion’s radar.”

“Oooh, don’t count me out that quickly,” Zane winked — as well as he could with only one eye visible. “They’re the bloody reason I came back in the first place.”

“Uh,” Rhys fidgeted. “What do you mean?”

“Got an invite from someone puttin’ a team together. Lotta cash involved. Plenty of incentive. And I just needed to lay low for a bit, if y’get my drift.” Zane pressed the bottle to his mouth, pausing to take a thick swallow. “But when the fella told me I’d be workin’ for Handsome bloody Jack, I noped right out. Nothin’ good comes from that.”

At the mention of Jack’s name, Rhys paled, pressing a hand to his chest. “Which, uh… Which ‘fella’ was that? Was he blond? Kinda narrow faced?”

“Couldn’t tell yah. Wore a helmet. Even had one a those voice thinga-ma-bobs on it. Was shifty from the start.”

“Ah…” Rhys turned away. _Timothy._ “That makes sense.”

“What about you, Rhys?” Zane turned toward him. “What’s next for yah?”

“I…I don’t really know.” Rhys dropped his eyes to consider the bottle in his hand. He palmed his face, fighting back the swell of unease and instead forced himself to really consider Zane’s question.

What _would_ he do next?

He had effectively put in his notice at work the moment he triggered the Fast Travel machine. Hyperion had offered all the resources he could want or need to pursue his more ambitious projects, but there was no way he could go back. It had been hard enough listening to Handsome Jack’s voice and seeing his face throughout every hall of Helios back _before_ this mess had started. It would be impossible to return now, not if he intended to resist the heady, intoxicating draw that was _Jack._

But he couldn’t exactly hit the open job market, either. Not with Maliwan on the hunt. It would be a betrayal to go to Dahl, though they were fairly anti-Hyperion to begin with, and he was more than a little intimidated by Torgue. The rest were either too small or too limited for his needs.

So where did that leave him?

“Shit.” 

“Aw, forget it for now,” Zane nudged his side. “C’mon. I need another.”

Rhys hesitated, feeling a brush of concern at returning to the main bar.

“I’m not sure how long I should stick around… I should disappear before I cause any more damage.”

Zane chuckled, pushing onto his feet. “Sure, boyo. But don’t worry. I’ve got your back. Yeh seem harmless enough.”

 _If only you knew_.

Zane led the way back into the bar, providing Rhys the cover he needed to take a cautious glance around. The group of Vault Hunters had disappeared, leaving only a few patrons scattered throughout the room. But before Rhys could pay any attention to them, Zane was quickly moving away, and he had to dash to keep up to his new ally.

Sinking into a seat at the bar, Zane reached forward to pluck a fresh bottle from underneath, much to the chagrin of the bartender. At his gesture, Rhys shook his head, declining the second round. Instead, he turned toward Zer0, smiling shyly as the helmeted assassin looked his way.

“I meant to say before—” he started, running his eyes along the surface as he searched for the words. “…I don’t really know how to thank you. For saving my life. But uh...yeah. Thanks.”

Zer0 deftly lifted his head, and that familiar red heart sprang into view.

“You are welcome, Rhys. / I’m sorry that I had to / shoot you to save you.”

Rhys blushed. “Pretty sure I deserved it.”

“You took a bullet from Zero?” Zane sank back onto his seat, an eyebrow raised. “Tougher than you look.”

“I mean, I’m pretty sure I almost died,” Rhys shot the silver fox a grin. “But _sure._ Thanks for the back-handed compliment.”

Zane chuckled, then gripped his shoulder in an affectionate gesture. “Any time, _Strongdork.”_

Rhys rolled his eyes, _like he hadn’t heard that a million times_ , when his gaze fell onto a booth not terribly far behind Zane. A few civilians occupied the space, mostly obscured as they sat turned away, but one of the fairly _bandit_ looking individuals stared straight back at him from behind a troubling, bloodied mask. The unerring stare had Rhys exhaling sharply; he spun, dropping his eyes back to the bar upon realizing he had left his hood down.

Okay. Probably time to go. He glanced over his shoulder, trying his best to appear calm as he worked out the quickest exit. Apparently, the action was less than subtle.

“Got somewhere to be?” Zane asked, setting down his bottle.

“Well, I vaguely recall Mordecai telling me to leave town before morning,” Rhys laughed shakily. “And I don’t want to find out how that threat ends. So I should probably get going.”

“Where _are_ you going?” Zer0 hummed. “You don’t seem eager to head / back to Helios.”

“No…” he frowned, lifting his hood. “I don’t know. But I stashed a bag nearby. Better go make sure it’s still there. I’ll figure out the rest after that.”

“Well, keep that skag prod a’ yers nearby. Just in case,” Zane suggested. “And if yer needin’ some protection, I’ll be here. If yeh got the money, of course.”

Rhys paused, gawking at the Vault Hunter in surprise. “Really? You’d work for me?”

“Boyo—” Zane swivelled on his stool, giving him a careful look. “I’ve done far worse for much less. Besides — this town is runnin’ dry. Thinkin’ bout movin’ on meself.”

“I am with Zane. / If you are in need of help, / you know where to look.”

Rhys considered the floor beneath his feet. He didn’t deserve their offers, not after what he’d done. But the friendly gesture from not one but _two_ Vault Hunters had Rhys almost shifting with a swell of hope, and he felt suddenly compelled to do something very stupid. 

_Do it. Just do it. What do you have to lose?_

Rhys turned his head to Zer0, and he lifted his cybernetic hand.

“That would be awesome,” he nodded. “Thanks again, bro.”

Zer0 stared silently at where his fist hovered in the air. Rhys tried not to visibly swallow his embarrassment, left hanging for an awkward moment. But then Zer0 raised his arm and knocked his closed hand against Rhys’ knuckles.

_“Bro.”_

“I take it back,” Zane shook his head, turning back toward the bar. “I can’t be seen with the likes a’ you two idjits.”

“Sorry, _‘Ferocity.’”_ Rhys smirked, patting him on the shoulder. ”You’re stuck with us, now.”

* * *

  
  
By the time Rhys finally stepped out into the cold, crisp air of the early Pandora morning, pausing on the stoop to rezip his jacket, he’d almost nearly forgotten the swirl of conflict that had previously gripped his entire being. After the brief exchange at the bar, he felt strangely _at ease,_ carrying with him a new sense of purpose, and the ECHO details of not one but two Vault Hunters, leaving him feeling more than a little overwhelmed by his peculiar luck.

It wasn’t what he had come for. But it had helped more than he had expected.

For a few minutes, he stood in the silent, abandoned street, drawing in long, cooling breaths. His lungs stung against the cold air, but his heart palpated with delight. He turned his eyes skyward to latch onto the ever looming space station overhead, and found that something fresh was starting to settle over him.

Rhys felt _free_. And damn if that wasn’t the best he’d felt in a long time.

He lingered longer than advisable, but allowed himself the time to reflect, to _smile,_ before he headed back into the narrow roads of the small town in search of his bag. A ways from the Fast Travel machine, at the back of an alleyway, it was stashed behind a few unassuming rubbish bins. He hadn’t done a particularly decent job at hiding it, but surprisingly, no one had seemed to discover it in his absence, and Rhys briefly wondered at his continued luck.

But as he slipped it onto his shoulder and gazed absently toward the mouth of the alleyway, the energy quickly faded. He was not alone; the masked bandit from the bar had followed, and was now pointedly blocking his path.

Rhys shivered. He stepped into the middle of the alley, glancing about in a useless search for another exit. But at the soft _crunch_ of dirt under the approaching bandit’s foot, he spun, dragging his jacket back to reveal the stun baton at his hip. With a quick, flawless flick of his wrist, the weapon was in his hand, and sparking dangerously as he held it aloft. The masked bandit did not back up, but seemed to at least pause in consideration of the new threat.

“I’m warning you now,” Rhys growled, summoning what courage he could muster. “I’m deadly with this thing.”

The bandit remained silent, tilting his head. Shadows flickered across his angled mask, as he leaned forward with some unspeakable intent. But then he rocked back on his heels, and burst out in uncontrollable _laughter._

Rhys blanched. “You...uh…”

“You know,” the bandit paused, wiping away a tear from the corner of his mask. “When we heard the Raiders had captured a Hyperion stooge, I didn’t think that it was _my_ Hyperion stooge.”

“No freaking way,” Rhys groaned. “Vaughn, you _asshole.”_

The bandit peeled the mask over his scruffy, dirt-matted hair, careful to adjust the pair of glasses underneath, and Rhys closed the distance between them in an instant to drag the short accountant into a tight hug.

“Damn it,” he growled, totally not tearing up. “Where the hell have you been, bro? Your ECHO went dead.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Vaughn lowered his head, patting at Rhys’ arm. “I needed some time. Plus, I kind of got into some…stuff. Was a little distracted for a while.”

Rhys begrudgingly released his best friend, stepping back to give his former roommate a once-over. Vaughn had traded his uptight work attire for a very _Pandoran_ outfit, complete with mismatched armour and a rip through the chest that just _happened_ to leave his buff abdomen on display. There also seemed to be blood stains spattered across his boots, looking not terribly old.

“You look, uh…”

“Awesome, right? Gotta admit, bro — I was a little hurt when you didn’t recognize me by my _carved physique.”_

Rhys rolled his eyes. “Vaughn, I spent my time trying _not_ to look at your weird body. But the get-up definitely suits you. Not to knock it, but it looks like you’re taking that _bandit king_ thing pretty seriously, huh?”

“Actually, it’s bandit _marauder,”_ Vaughn corrected, pushing the glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I’m a ways off from being king yet. Gotta get through a few more blood feuds before that can happen, but fingers crossed!”

“Oh.” Rhys blinked. “I was joking, but, uh. Oh.”

“But look at you!” Vaughn waved. “Back on Pandora! Did the Raider lifestyle get to you? I _told_ you it was addicting, didn’t I?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Rhys rubbed at his neck. “And you? How the hell are you surviving on your own down here?”

“Hey. I didn’t choose the bandit life. It chose _me,_ bro.”

“It most certainly did _not.”_

Rhys’ heart clenched. He lifted his head to gaze past Vaughn, to where two very familiar sisters lurked in the mouth of the alleyway.

“If anything, he got his foot _stuck_ in bandit life and is dragging it everywhere we go,” Fiona snorted, gesturing casually.

 _“Fi_ _,”_ Rhys croaked, feeling his fingers twitch. _“_ _Sasha._ What are you doing here?”

"Looking for Athena,” Fiona explained quietly. Her eyes seemed to avoid Rhys directly, but when she at last gazed toward him, her expression surprisingly softened. “Hello, Rhys.”

He winced. “Hi.”

“Hey, you big idiot,” Sasha stepped toward him, offering a shy smile. “Long time no see. You over your pathetic hero worship yet?”

Rhys’ stare dropped to the ground. “…uh…actually _…yeah.”_

The trio went quiet, alternating between expressions of skepticism and surprise. But at Rhys’ continued silence, Vaughn appeared to perk up in cautious optimism.

“Wait, really?” he asked. “Like, no kidding?”

“It’s over, Vaughn,” Rhys sighed, giving him a tight look. “So, uh…time to move on I guess.”

“Well. Glad to hear it,” Fiona lifted an eyebrow. “I gotta say, it doesn’t suck to see your face again.”

“Oh yeah. _Thanks.”_ Rhys nearly stuck out his tongue, flush with relief. “So…how are you two? How’d the Vault of the Traveller turn out?”

Sasha made a face. “Not according to plan, actually.”

“We ran into trouble the moment we got planet-side…we lost Gortys,” Fiona kicked at a rock. “And between _that_ and dodging Hyperion patrols, we’ve been a bit occupied.”

“I’m…sorry to hear it.” Rhys winced. “I’m sorry about a lot of things.”

“You should be,” Sasha mumbled. Rhys thumbed at his stun baton to avoid her gaze. “But I suppose it wouldn’t suck to have you around again. And it might help to have a fourth if we’re going to take Vallory down.”

Rhys balked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“We managed to track down her hideout, with the help of our accountant-turned-bandit here,” Fiona nodded toward Vaughn. “We’re going to get Gortys back. You in?”

He rocked back in surprise. “I…uh…”

Before he could answer, the distinct sound of a gun being cocked clipped through the air. The vicious rush of adrenaline this sent through Rhys had him again lifting his stun baton into the air, just as Fiona spun with her own tiny pistol raised. But at the appearance of the massive Dahl rifle being shoved into her face, she gave pause. Rhys, however, breathed a sigh of relief, lowering his arm upon realizing it was Zane and Zer0 who had snuck up behind the motley crew.

“Fuck’s sake,” he barked. “Don’t _do_ that.”

Zane grinned from behind his gun. “Sorry, boyo. Couldn’t help but notice you were being followed.”

“Uh…Rhys?” Vaughn gazed uneasily toward him, hands raised in the air. “Friends of yours?”

“Apparently,” he gestured toward the Vault Hunters. “Zane, Zero. These are my pals. Zero, you might remember... Sasha was with me when we first met. You know — skags, bandits, death rally?”

Zer0 lowered his sword, head cocked.

“Ah — Bossanova,” he confirmed, turning to inspect Fiona. “So you found the Gortys piece. / And then you lost it.”

“We still have _one_ of the pieces. It’s a little more complicated than that,” she snapped, eyes narrowed. Zane chuckled, dropping his rifle as he stepped into her space.

“We’ve no doubt it is, little miss,” he angled his chin. “Which is why it wouldn’t hurt to pad yer numbers, would it?”

Fiona flushed red. “You want to go?”

“S’it gonna be dangerous?”

“Very.”

“Will there be loot?”

“Most definitely.”

“Well, shite. That’s all you had to say.” Zane casually passed through the group, pivoting to loop an arm around Rhys’ shoulders. “‘sides. Someone’s gotta keep Hyperion here outta trouble.”

“I’ll have you know I trained with Jack’s right hand man,” Rhys grumbled. Zane raised an eyebrow, and Rhys shrugged. “I mean…we only had two arena sessions…but _still.”_

“Well then,” Zane smirked, lifting a hand to ruffle his hair. “This I _have_ to see.”

“Rhys?”

Vaughn hovered at a distance; his expression had lapsed back into something cautious. Rhys immediately recognized it, and felt a twist of remorse — it was his mistake for having dropped Jack’s name so casually.

“It’s okay, Vaughn,” he muttered, carding fingers through his hair. “I meant it. It’s over.”

Vaughn took a long, heavy moment to consider. Rhys almost sagged under the weight, stomach ready to turn.

“…okay, bro. I believe you.”

Rhys escaped Zane’s grip to cross over to Vaughn. The small man lifted his arms to accept the hug, and Rhys felt a flush of warmth in his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I always knew you were right. I just had to figure it out for myself. I’m just sorry for being a dick.”

“The fact that you are standing here is proof that I underestimated you, Rhys,” Vaughn replied softly. “So I’m sorry for ditching you, bro.”

A moment of silence passed, where Rhys just held onto his best friend. All was quiet, and suddenly, everything seemed whole again. Like he’d somehow fixed all of his past mistakes. Like that little, buff angel was back where he belonged on his shoulder. It was —

“So…” Fiona coughed awkwardly, because it was _just like her_ to ruin the exchange. “Not to break up the bro fest or anything…”

“Yeah,” Sasha smirked. “Sun’s coming up. No time like the present. So what do you say, Rhys?”

And there it was. The defining moment. Rhys wavered, speechless as he stared at Sasha. He gazed back toward Vaughn, then Fiona. Zer0. Then Zane. And at last, he turned his eyes skyward, caught one last time by the looming space station in the sky. He swayed, breathed deep, and gave a determined, insistent nod.

“Okay,” he hummed, as his heart began to race. “Let’s go get Gortys.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was meant to be. Plus - Axton finally got to see him for who he really was.
> 
> Writing Zane is fun. I've never see so many red, squiggly lines in my text editor before Zane.
> 
> One more piece to go. I won't make you wait long, I promise.
> 
> \--  
>  **Edit:** Since I never really addressed it outside of the description for the story, I'd like to clarify here: I imagined slightly different Tales events for this to take place, so deviates from the canon.  
> Vaughn made it back to Helios with Rhys and the girls instead of being stuck on Pandora, and the girls / crew left them behind after Rhys' interaction with Jack in his office revealed his obsessions. This led to everything after this point changing, which is why Vallory is still kicking, and the Gortys piece is still separate. It was an effort to bring everything full circle for this chapter.
> 
> Sorry if it didn't make sense - I was focusing so much on Jack / Rhys that I didn't exactly explain that. :)


	29. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, but sweet.

Aquator really was as beautiful as he’d heard. The ocean planet boasted endless, turquoise seas and long stretches of private, white sand beaches. And more hours of daylight than Rhys knew what to do with — although he was very tempted to hit “fuck it”, strip off the uncomfortably warm layers of businesswear, and leap over the edge of the balcony to make for the closest shore.

He did his best to restrain the impulse, remaining composed as he quietly sipped his champagne. Rhys eased against the railing, face upturned to absorb the heat of the afternoon sun. Behind him, a hum of voices and soft music drifted out past the glass doors of the convention centre. It would soon be time for him to head back inside, but he could spare a few minutes.

Besides. He was still hoping to see if—

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

Rhys immediately drew straight, subconsciously lengthening his frame and batting away the wrinkles in his button-up before he turned toward the open doorway behind him. He tried to appear casual as he gazed across to where Handsome Jack stood, quickly noticing his telltale quirked eyebrow. The Hyperion president did little to hide his intentions as he looked Rhys over from head to toe, and Rhys fought back against the flip of his stomach.

“Hello, Jack,” Rhys greeted. He felt his heart flutter, but tamped the feeling down. “Long time. I didn’t expect you to come to this.”

“And miss the chance of seeing my favourite little code monkey?” Jack smirked, pushing off from the wall to join him on the terrace. “Look at you, all grown up. You’ve filled out.”

Rhys made a face. “I was grown when we met.”

“Yeah, _kinda,_ I guess,” Jack chuckled, reaching up to brush his elbow as he arrived at his side. _“There’s_ that pout…adorable.”

Rhys narrowed his eyes; Jack grinned. He tilted his head to scan his face, and Rhys had a moment of panic and delight at the possibility that he might close the space between them.

“You look good, kitten.”

“And you haven’t aged a day, I notice.” Rhys leaned against the railing, giving himself the barest distance. Jack noticed, and the corner of his mouth turned up. “How’ve you been, Jack?”

“Oh, you know. Dealing with some bandit nonsense. The usual stuff,” Jack waved a hand through the air. “But how are _you_ doing, Atlas?”

And there it was. Rhys exhaled through his nostrils before bringing his glass up to take a sip of champagne. “…quite well, actually. Our profits are way up. We’ve finally started to catch the attention of the big players.”

“You’ll always have my attention, pumpkin,” Jack winked. Rhys made a show of rolling his eyes.

“I meant _Maliwan_ , but yeah. Fine.”

“Is Katagawa giving you grief?” Jack’s expression minutely darkened and Rhys made a mental note.

“I’ve got it covered, thank you.”

“Oh, c’mon now,” Jack pressed in close, and Rhys grumbled despite the swell in his chest. He braced his hand on the arm that Jack placed beside his hip to effectively cage him against the railing. “Don’t you want big, bad Handsome Jack protecting you? Just like old times…”

Rhys shot him a look. “I was _held for ransom_ the last time you were ‘protecting’ me.”

“Yeah, and then I rescued your damsel-in-distress ass. Like the goddamn hero I am.”

“You need to get your memory checked,” Rhys snorted. “And thanks for the offer, but I’ve already got someone watching my back.”

“Is that so?”

Briefly closing his eyes, Rhys sighed, setting down his glass. His heart fluttered in consideration, in shame, and Jack simply eased back, patiently waiting him out. “If you shoot me, or strangle me, Atlas will go to war. Just a head’s up.”

Jack laughed. “Why would I—”

“Anytime, Zero.”

The man at his side tensed. He followed the turn of Rhys' head, silent as they watched Zer0’s sudden appearance. The Vault Hunter stood opposite from them on the balcony, sword in hand, and when his cloak disabled, a shimmer of light dancing over his tall, slim frame, his helmet was angled so that he could only be staring at Jack.

Jack remained stock still, carefully eyeing the Vault Hunter a moment before he rounded narrowed eyes on Rhys. They glared at one another for a tense moment, during which Rhys hesitantly considered the release mechanism of the gun in his shiny new cybernetic arm, but Jack quickly knocked him off balance with a mischievous smirk that easily stretched over his synthetic face.

“You continue to surprise, kiddo.”

Rhys eased back in suspicion. “You’re…not mad?” 

“‘course I’m mad,” Jack grumbled. He glanced sharply toward Zer0 as he turned to lean against the railing, casually dropping a hand to rest on the small of Rhys’ back. “But you’ve always had terrible taste in men — excluding yours truly, of course — and I won’t hold it against you.”

Rhys’ mouth tightened. “Really.”

“Besides. Much as it pains me to admit…him and I are square.”

Zer0 straightened. Rhys rocked on his heels. “Seriously?”

“Well, he did save your life.” Jack shrugged, lifting his glass to his mouth.

Rhys blinked. “Oh.” His pulse quickened.

“But I mean, he _did_ also shoot you.”

“Ah.”

“And he probably even woulda finished that stupid haiku if I hadn’t snatched the hypo out of his weird friggin’ hand.”

“Jack.”

“And I think if I shot him now, it would probably ruin the chances of getting those long legs of yours around my hips tonight, so…”

Rhys schooled his reaction, but couldn’t deny the ripple in his groin. “Not going to happen, Handsome.”

“Ah, ah, kitten…” Jack cooed, leaning in so that hot breath painted his neck. “The night is still young…”

Rhys shivered. He was tempted to point out that it was still very much _daytime,_ that Jack was _a piece of work,_ but instead he couldn’t help but utter something just a little bit worse. He shifted, pressing his lower back against the affectionate touch of Jack's hand, and tilted his head _just so_ as to give a glimpse of the tattooed flesh of his neck. Jack's gaze drew down, lingered, before flickering back up in heated suspicion, but Rhys only offered an innocent smile.

“…something, something, fuck like rabbits?”

A glint flashed in Jack’s eye; a growling chuckle reverberated in his chest. That familiar, wonderful sound had Rhys buckling, slipping further into Jack’s grip.

“Yeah. _Something_ like that.”

His arm drew up and Rhys’ heart stopped. As Jack’s hand drifted toward his face, Rhys closed his eyes, sending a silent apology to his bodyguard nearby. Warm fingers slid along his jawline, a sensation he had missed _so much,_ and when Jack was nudging at his ear, Rhys willingly let the soft moan slip past his lips. Jack stiffened beneath him, relaxed, and pressed ever closer. And Rhys very much allowed it to happen.

“There he is,” Jack hummed against his neck. His posture shifted; his smirk slipped into something content, at peace.

“There’s my Rhysie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are. It was quite a ride. I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read this far. It's a small novel!  
> And a huge thanks to everyone who commented. My favourite part after posting a new chapter was to wait for your messages, to see the guessing and the emotions and the love. Feedback like that really is a motivator, so I appreciate every word shared.
> 
> I'll be taking a break from posting for a while to finish my next piece, which takes place from Axton's perspective (as if I haven't already made him suffer enough because of these two).
> 
> Also -- I've mentioned before, but there _is_ a part 3 to this. It's "unofficial" in that it's a fun (but dark) take on what would come next. I consider this a stand alone piece, but if you still want more of this story, be sure to subscribe to my username for future updates.
> 
> For art, you can follow @Lysodesigns on Tumblr, Twitter, or Insta.
> 
> And in case you missed it, I did a BL3 Oneshot following the events of the Handsome Jackpot DLC [over here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24273370).  
> Thanks again. ❤


	30. Previews

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will not be posting for a while, so I figured it would be nice to provide a couple of previews from upcoming pieces. I’m not going to give context, and there might be a few lines stripped out to avoid spoilers. I will also continue to clean these up as I polish off their stories. Either way, I hope you enjoy these excerpts.

**From an Axton centric Rhack piece that follows an alternate series of events between the Pre Sequel and BL2 —**

**Excerpt from Chapter Three:**

“So. What brings you here, soldier?”

At the centre of a dingy, dimly-lit room serving as the current location of his interrogation, Axton shifted slightly in his seat, glancing warily around the tight space that the Crimson Raiders called home. Sanctuary itself had been mostly unassuming; beyond the massive walls that managed to repel the odd bandit attack, the dank headquarters where he now sat were even less impressive. Next to what he had experienced with Dahl, it was all fairly pathetic. But in all fairness, he hadn’t come to expect much from an army of former Atlas nobodies led by a Vault Hunter.

But despite the lack of inspiration at his surroundings, he maintained his respectful demeanour with the man sitting across. “To Pandora, sir? Or here?”

“Let’s start with Pandora.”

After having deserted his post before his imminent meeting with a firing squad, Axton had pursued more ambitious goals. Bounty after bounty took him across the known universe, keeping his pockets full and his ammo plentiful. But he had yet to achieve that which he strived for — a great, satisfying personal glory. How he was to manage this was a mystery yet even to him, but it ultimately led to the outer planets, and Pandora in particular.

But that was a friggin’ mouthful, and more than he wanted to share, so instead he settled for:

“I ran my course with Dahl — we didn’t exactly see eye to eye. Figured I would try my luck out here.”

“And what were you looking for?”

He kept his head high as he considered, maintaining careful eye-contact. It wasn’t difficult to read Roland — he was a career soldier, much like Axton. But where Axton had dug his own professional grave, it was said that Roland had been betrayed. Even better, as he was a man with a cause, which made it easier to appeal to his needs.

“I was born with a purpose, sir,” Axton answered. “A sense of duty that I can’t ignore. I couldn’t sit idly by with so many people out there looking for help.”

 _By means of a bounty board, of course._ But Roland didn’t need to know that. Not that a Vault Hunter wouldn’t understand. But Axton suspected that Roland’s intentions ran a little more parallel to his sense of justice than his own self serving interests.

“Cut the bullshit, kid. It won’t work here.”

Axton stiffened, head swivelling toward the woman that had come striding into the room. The hostile looking redhead seemed to ignore his presence despite her comment, instead slipping along behind Roland, whose expression minutely tightened. His shoulders shifted as her fingers slid along them, a motion that Axton couldn’t pin down as discomfort or quiet delight. Either way, his attention quickly turned back to the woman, at last noticing the myriad of tattoo-like symbols on her arm.

His eyes widened. He had heard of Sirens before, simply as some distant legend, more of a myth uttered between his fellow soldiers. But there was no mistaking that the woman setting a tight glare in his direction was one of these such beings; her arm almost pulsed with raw power. And it was all so…

Disappointing. Which was the theme of the day, so far. Or the last few months.

“Pardon?” he snapped, shaking off the initial shock of her appearance. “What does that mean?”

“Don’t pretend you’re a saint to pull on Roland’s heartstrings,” she snorted. “The simple fact is that you are former Dahl, and now you’re on Pandora. That doesn’t happen by accident.”

Axton straightened. “I didn’t say it did.”

“No.” A thin, hateful smirk spread across her lips. “But you obviously aren’t being honest about your intentions here.”

“Lilith, this isn’t necessary,” Roland grumbled. “I have it handled.”

“You’re too lax about the people you bring on board, Roland,” the redhead chided, sweeping her gaze back to the stern commander. “Are we really so desperate for soldiers that you won’t do a little digging?”

Without waiting for an answer, Lilith strode across the room. Axton flinched, raising his arm to grip her wrist as she plucked the dog tag off his chest. The pair froze, expressions set with fury as they exchanged glares.

“So?” she hummed, an eyebrow quirked. “What would this piece of metal reveal about you?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“If you plan to keep secrets, you have no place here.”

Axton released his grasp long enough to abruptly find his feet, using his barest height advantage to shift the power imbalance.

“Are you really in a place to turn away willing, trained men?” he growled. “Or is it untrue that the Crimson Raiders have been bleeding out?”

A flicker of heat flashed in the Siren’s eyes; her lips curled.

“Get your hands off me.”

“Funny, I’m fairly certain you put yours on me first.”

“That’s enough.”

Roland stood, setting upon them a heavy stare. There was no real judgement in the hard lines of his face, only something akin to fatigue.

“Lilith, stand down.”

“Roland—”

“Please don’t treat me as though I am naive,” Roland insisted, levelling a look her way. “It is true that most people don’t come to Pandora with good intentions. But as a former Crimson Lance, I have no difficulty understanding where Axton is coming from. And he’s right, Lil’. We’re steadily losing men every day. If we still want to take down Jack, we need all the help we can get.”

“We’re not desperate.”

“We _are.”_

Roland sighed, lifting a hand to Lilith’s cheek. Axton balked at the sudden affection, turning his gaze away as if to afford them the barest space.

“Nothing we have done since Elpis has been of any worth. Not really. We need to change course.”

Lilith’s eyes edged wide. “Does this mean you’ve reconsidered—”

“Yes,” Roland nodded. “And with Axton here, I think it will work. He shouldn’t be on Hyperion radar yet.”

Why did that sound ominous? Axton adjusted his weight between his feet, folding his arms behind his back. Roland turned his way to offer a sharp nod.

“We have a job for you, soldier. But it won’t be easy.”

* * *

**From the unnamed and unofficial follow-up to “This Space Between Us”:**

**An excerpt from Chapter Two:**

A great _bang_ echoed from the hallway he’d just left, and Rhys flinched. He didn’t look back, moving quickly to his desk to pluck up the device on the surface. He lowered it onto his wrist in a smooth motion, watching as it sprang into shape. As the pistol quickly formed, locking into place over his cybernetic arm, Rhys pivoted to aim it at the open hallway.

The tall, sleek frame of the assassin, Zer0, appeared at the opposite end of the room with his sword brandished. At this, Rhys took a step back to scrutinize his new appearance. The monochromatic armour had been traded for something more traitorous — a very Maliwan orange and teal monstrosity. It sent a vicious pulse of heat through Rhys’ chest, and his lip curled.

“Don’t fucking move,” he spat, pistol held aloft. “I’m onto you.”

Zer0 tilted his head, but said nothing. Rhys’ grip on the pistol tightened, and he leaned toward his desk, feeling across the surface without tearing his eyes away from the Vault Hunter.

“Rh—” Zane’s voice barked over his ECHO, splintered. “Alm— there. More ships are — _zzzt_ — I think it’s—”

The comm cut out. Behind Rhys, beyond the windows of his office, Promethea had descended into chaos. Maliwan dropships soared past, silhouettes of dreadnoughts hung in orbit, and explosive blasts rippled through the air. There were distant screams, bursts of gunfire, and Rhys felt every one of them strike his chest.

This war was not his fault. He was not to blame for the siege rocking his normally peaceful planet. But that did not stop him from feeling responsible. Nor would it prevent him from seeking revenge on Katagawa for every life lost due to his obsession, which had grown out of control in the last few months.

Rhys had never encouraged Katagawa. But with hindsight, given the current state of his home, he supposed there was more he could have done beyond antagonizing his stalker. Like putting a few rounds through his skull.

He flinched as the assassin hazarded a step forward. “I said _don’t move!”_

Finally, his fingers snagged the lamp on his desk. He turned it, felt a click, and the dais beneath him began to vibrate. Rhys stepped aside as the platform slid open to reveal his escape hatch. At this, Zer0 darted forward, and Rhys ducked aside, just barely missing the glowing blade as it sliced through the air. He tumbled down the chute, landing painfully on the steeply angled ramp before he slid down to the ground several stories below.

His landing was not graceful. It wasn’t, in fact, a landing at all. Once he reached the bottom level, he tumbled, rolling across the concrete. When the world stopped spinning, Rhys was on his back, suit covered in dirt, but thankfully, his pistol was still locked in place. He groaned past the pain in his knees, turning over into a crouch.

“Ouch. That hurt.”

Six years, and you’d think he would have learned to stick the landing.

Zer0 managed the fall a little better. He slid down the ramp on his heels, then easily dropped to the ground and advanced on Rhys.

“Stop!” Rhys ordered, aiming the pistol at the advancing assassin. He did not listen.

He fell back in alarm as Zer0 raised his sword overhead, preparing to bring it down on his head. The imminent attack was only halted when a barrage of turret fire tore across the narrow strip of ground between them.

Rhys flinched away from the splash of plasma, glancing upward to the source of the strike. A group of drop-ships descended from the sky to hover in place over the utility yard, looming above the pair. Rhys scanned them with wide eyes, as his ripple of fear subsided into muted surprise.

The ships were not Maliwan.

The assassin across from him noticed this as well. He lifted his head, seemingly taken aback by the turn of events. But before either of them could muster any sort of reaction, a third figure emerged from the escape chute.

Zane stumbled into view, immediately training his SMG onto the assassin’s back. A second Zer0 was quick to join him, clad in his familiar black and white suit, and Rhys’ eyes darted between his old friend and the imposter before him.

The Maliwan Zer0 turned sharply to acknowledge them, looking displeased with the series of interruptions.

“Well, lookit this nonsense,” Zane barked. “Got yerself a fan, Zer0.”

“This is pathetic,” Zer0 shook his head. “A crude impersonation. / And those colours suck.”

* * *

**An excerpt from Chapter Six:**

“Your chair is boring.”

“I know.”

“And too small.”

“Well—”

“Do you even have a trapdoor?”

Rhys chuckled. “Yeah. Kind of. But it’s less of an insta-death trapdoor, and more of a ‘way out’ door.”

Jack gave him a knowing glance, at which Rhys glanced away to hide his smile.

Rhys was leaning over his desk, struggling with his one arm in its sling as he worked away at the cybernetic limb laid out over its surface. Beside him, sunk into his chair, Jack swirled a glass in his hand, seemingly entranced by the thick scotch inside. He had offered to help with the arm, but Rhys was forever stubborn, and insisted he could handle it alone. Besides, he preferred to be able to watch from the corner of his eye as Jack sat at _his_ desk drinking _his_ scotch while resting in _his_ chair. _Finally._

Jack tipped back the tumbler, eyes fluttering shut as the liquid passed over his tongue. When he dropped his arm again, giving a contented hum, Rhys did his best not to smirk.

“This is—”

“Your favourite,” Rhys answered for him. “I know.”

Jack’s eyebrows quirked in response. But before he could say anything, Rhys was turning the arm over, placing down the tool in his hand to worry at the exposed metal panelling on the back. It was an older model — a silver piece he had used years ago to replace the Hyperion prosthetic. While it was outdated now, it was more advanced than his original arm — far more responsive and agile, and he could even _feel_ through the hand for the first time. Plus, he had wanted to escape that nauseous, anxious sensation that would grip him from simply glancing down at that bright, Hyperion yellow. The all consuming feeling of being _homesick._

“Okay…that should do it.”

Slipping the panelling back into place, he straightened and winced at a strange _click_ of movement in his back. Jack’s expression flickered, but again, he said nothing. Instead, he pushed to his feet, gesturing to the arm.

“Do you mind if I…?”

Rhys slowly lifted his head, careful to make eye contact before he offered a solemn nod. Then Jack was lifting the arm and moving around the desk.

It slid into its cradle easily enough; Rhys shivered as the connections took place. Heat thrummed through his core before his eye clicked to life. Diagnostics ran their way through his vision while the arm slowly rebooted, providing an extensive list of readouts. But Rhys didn’t see any of them. He could only see Jack, standing at his side, with his hands still on his arm.

 _Lean in_ , Rhys urged. _Do it, you coward. He is right. There._

His eye clicked off. Swallowing, he lifted his arm from Jack’s grasp, curling his fingers to test their dexterity. It felt laggy compared to the red prosthetic, but still moved fluidly at his neural commands.

“Working perfectly,” he nodded, sparing Jack a brief glance. “Uh…thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Rhys shivered. He turned to his desk, careful to collect his tools and tidy the contents of the surface at his fingertips. As silence fell between him and the man at his back, he quietly lifted his head to the windows across, tracing the silhouette of the city where it was backlit by a gorgeous blue aurora in the atmosphere beyond. The world outside was finally at peace, glowing and prosperous — an exact opposition to the war currently being waged inside Rhys’ office.

He _wanted_ to be strong. To resist all of the temptations clawing at the back of his mind. But strangely enough, it was Zane’s voice that kept coming back to the forefront, drowning out the rest of his inhibitions.

_You don’t have to be._

“You did good here, Rhys,” Jack murmured, and Rhys realized that he was suddenly standing at his side. “I don’t remember Promethea ever looking this amazing.”

“I can’t take all the credit,” he shrugged, trying not to shift with the swell of ego caused by Jack’s words. “The people here are wonderful. It’s like they were just looking for the chance to thrive. All they needed was a little push.”

“And it took someone like you to give that to them.”

Rhys closed his eyes.

“I got lucky.”

That much was true. Without the tech he’d salvaged from the Vault of the Traveller, he wouldn’t be anywhere close to where he was today. Atlas wouldn’t have reemerged to take back its place amongst the powerful corporations, and Promethea would still be a gutter planet that somehow competed with Pandora in terms of general survivability. Which was amazing, considering that skin pizzas were a thing on Pandora, whereas Promethea was fully urbanized.

“Oh god,” Rhys bent. “Urgh… _skin pizzas.”_

Jack barked a laugh. “Wha…where did your head go just now, kiddo?”

“Friggin’ Pandora. If I ever set foot on that planet again, please shoot me.”

“Oh, c’mon… after the adventures we had?” Jack winked. “How could you stay away?”

“I peeled a man’s _face_ off of a sleeping psycho,” he shot back. “With you _distracting_ me, by the way. In fact, I’m pretty sure you called me a serial killer.”

“Well, I mean,” Jack made a broad gesture with his hands. “You peeled a guy’s face off, Rhysie.”

“Off a mask! It was already peeled off the person!”

“Tomato, to-mato, cupcake. And you’re really gonna let that one little incident ruin an entire planet for you?”

Rhys snorted. “You mean the place with the huge bandits whose heads can slip off their skulls and they will _still_ keep trying to kill you? Yeah. No, thanks.”

“Don’t worry, kitten,” Jack smirked, gently elbowing his flank. “I’d protect you.”

“Oh, you mean like the last time?” Rhys rolled his eyes.

Jack’s expression went blank; he cleared his throat, then looked away. Realizing what he had said, Rhys was immediately struck with a wash of remorse. He lifted his hand toward Jack, before pausing and dropping it to his chest. What would he say? What _could_ he say?

* * *

**Excerpt from a piece based on the concept of Soul Mates found through physical touch.**

“Rhyyyyys,” Hugo drew out his name, and Rhys stiffened. “Heya, buddy. Got those numbers I asked for?”

Rhys paused. “Uh…no. _Sir_. I don’t.”

Hugo frowned, looking clearly unimpressed as he eyed Rhys. “So why exactly are you in my office?”

He swallowed hard, glancing carefully over his shoulder. At this, Hugo sighed, pushing onto his feet. He started his way around the desk and Rhys flinched, knowing all too well what was about to occur.

“I’m certain I said not to bother coming back until you were finished…” Hugo hummed, moving toward Rhys. “Unless there’s another reason you’re here?”

Rhys took a pointed step back as Hugo came close to him, just dodging the hand that came up to reach for his wrist. He was always quick to evade Hugo’s touch, just slightly more insistent than Hugo was at _trying_ to touch him. It was almost a dance between them, one that he’d come to loathe. Rhys wasn’t certain what he’d do if Hugo eventually managed to close that distance, and it actually turned out he _was_ his soul mate.

Airlock _himself_ , probably.

Hugo didn’t fail to notice Rhys’ maneuver, which sent a dark look across his face. “So…?”

“I’m not, uh…” Rhys faltered, trying desperately to remember why he was here. “I’m not doing it.”

This at least had the desired effect; Hugo eased back in surprise.

“Sorry, Rhys, I must have been hearing you wrong. Can you repeat that? _”_

“I’m not doing it. I’m not counting the tiles,” Rhys snapped. He was forced to take another step back as Hugo advanced once more. “It’s bullshit work and you know it.”

“Oh, Rhys,” he chided. “You’ve already fallen so far… Do you think you could handle another demotion?”

Rhys swallowed hard, glancing again toward the closed door to the office. Hugo stepped forward yet again. “I’m not sure there’s much further to fall… Janitor, maybe? Or…something a little bit lower…and certainly more uncomfortable.”

At this, Rhys’ head swivelled back to Hugo. He outright glared at him, a snarl etched into his features. “I’m not going to be your _cock warmer,_ if that’s what you’re getting at.”

Hugo gave him a smarmy, unsettling smile. “Well…if you want to stay on this station…it might be something you’ll be forced to consider.”

“I’d willingly space myself before I got on my knees for you, _Vasquez_.” Rhys spat.

Hugo closed the remaining distance of the office, and Rhys was against the wall now. He shivered, eyes moving in desperation between Hugo and the door. 

_Where is he!?_

“You would grow to like it…” Hugo hummed. “I’ll treat you right, Rhys. I can be…gentle.”

His hand was in the air again, moving for Rhys’ face this time. He shrank back, transfixed, and only when the door _slammed_ open did he even chance a sharp breath. Hugo leapt in surprise, glancing toward his latest guest in abject awe, and Rhys took the moment to duck away from where he’d been backed against the wall, moving toward Timothy.

The doppelgänger had resumed his _Handsome Jack_ persona, with a very tight expression that lingered on Hugo in intense loathing. Rhys felt a flutter of heat as he gazed at Timothy, but tamped it down, glancing over his shoulder to gauge Hugo’s reaction.

“H-handsome Jack, sir!” Hugo stuttered, eyes wide. “It’s an honour, sir! What are you…”

“Shut it, _Wallethead_ ,” Timothy snapped, lips curling. “I’m not here for you.”

Hugo’s mouth clamped shut, and Rhys felt another thrill rush through him. He almost threw himself at Timothy, something entirely unrelated to the Handsome Jack character he was exuding at the moment.

Not that that wasn’t _hot as hell_ , but anyway — as if reading his thoughts, Timothy turned his attention on Rhys, eyes narrowed.

“You. What’s your name?” Timothy snapped, and Rhys had to force himself not to react.

“Uh… _Rhys_ , sir,” he offered, adding a wince. Timothy snorted, rolling his eyes, and _damn_ if he wasn’t perfect. He moved into Rhys’ personal space, reaching up to thread fingers into the hair at the back of his head. Rhys gasped in genuine surprise as Timothy pulled his head backward, exposing his neck to breathe warmth onto his face.

“Can you explain to me, _Rhys,”_ Timothy snarled. “Why you were in a _closed off sector_ not ten minutes ago?”

Rhys blinked. This _was_ Timothy, right? Suddenly, he wasn’t so certain anymore. “S-sir?”

“You heard me, kiddo,” the other man hissed. “That floor was shut down for a goddamn reason. And there you are on the security feed just traipsing down the hallways, like it was no big deal. What the hell were you doing there?”

“Counting tiles!” Rhys admitted. “I…I was…”

Timothy’s mask tightened. He stiffened, pulling Rhys straight, which inadvertently pressed their bodies together. “You were _what?”_

“Perhaps there has been a misunderstanding…” Hugo started. “Handsome Jack, sir, Rhys was—”

“In a locked down zone during prime working hours, cupcake.” Timothy rounded his sharp expression on Hugo. “You — you’re his supervisor, correct?”

Hugo’s eyes edged wide. “…yes, sir. I am.”

“Can you tell me why your employee was _counting tiles?_ ” he snarled. “Wasting not only _Hyperion’s_ precious time, but now _mine?_ ”

Hugo swallowed hard. “Not a clue, sir.”

Rhys blanched, head swivelling toward Hugo. “You _lying ba_ —”

“Well, then I guess that’s that, kitten,” Timothy moved his hand up Rhys’ tie to gently grip his throat. This sent a very peculiar ripple through Rhys, and his hips canted with the action. Timothy almost stumbled, pausing as Rhys pressed into him, but he managed to maintain his composure. “Any last words, before I send you out the closest airlock?”

“Please, sir, I—”

“Nope? Didn’t think so. C’mon, cupcake. There should be one just around—”

“Sir, if I may…”

Timothy paused, gazing curiously toward Hugo. The other man moved forward, eyebrows knit with something Rhys couldn’t place. It was only when a hand reached out did he realize his intentions, and Rhys almost hissed as he touched his flesh hand where it gripped Timothy’s arm.

Wonderful, _glorious_ relief flooded through Rhys, when nothing else did. He opened his eyes again, a delirious smile dancing across his face, and Hugo looked absolutely crestfallen. He hummed, moving back to glance over Rhys in disappointment.

“Well?” Timothy grunted. “What did you want?”

“Nothing,” Hugo snorted. “Sorry to interrupt, sir. I believe you were on your way to the airlock just down the hall…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading.


End file.
